


Throne of the High King

by The_Shadow_Knows



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: A skeptic in Narnia, Action, Adventure, American!Pevensies, Angst, Aslan is kind of a dick, Centaurs, Dwarves, Extremely Alternate Universe, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Fauns, Isekai, Love Story, Melodrama, Mermaids, Nymphs - Freeform, Odyssey, Peter is extremely OOC, Romance, War, faith - Freeform, modern day AU, pop culture references, quippy, rationality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 63
Words: 168,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26124457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Shadow_Knows/pseuds/The_Shadow_Knows
Summary: In this modern-day AU, Peter Pevensie is a sarcastic NYPD detective who winds up in Narnia without his siblings.  He must fight and win the Winter War alone, if he's going to sit on the throne of the High King.
Relationships: Peter Pevensie/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written when there were still Narnia movies coming out (c. 2008–2009, in fact). I've decided to post it in the hopes that some may find it entertaining, despite how very AU it is. If you do, please leave comments; and happy reading!

**Prelude to Book One**

* * *

YELLOW police tape cordoned off the old brown house in downtown Brooklyn. Two uniformed NYPD officers stood waiting by the open front door. A black sedan pulled up to the curb and rolled to a gentle stop. The driver's side opened and out stepped a man in his early 30s with dirty blond hair and searching eyes. Detective Investigator Pete Pevensie of the NYPD walked up to the front door and past the two officers. They fell into line behind the detective.

"What do we have?" asked Pete.

One of the officers took out a notepad and flipped a couple of pages. "A neighbor called. Said the old man hadn't left his home in a couple of days… figured he might've just croaked. The guy was over eighty."

"What was his name?"

The officer flipped back a page. "Kirke… Digory Kirke. British immigrant. History professor over at NYU."

Detective Pevensie had come into the living room by this time. He took a look around. Lots of clutter… historical artifacts and stacks of books, mostly. The kind of stuff that would just look tacky any other place… but here, it seemed to fit. It certainly made the place look like the living room of an octogenarian history teacher. He sighed. "The old man left a note?"

The second officer nodded and withdrew a clear plastic bag. The suicide note was sealed inside. "Here it is. I thought you might want to take a look for yourself, Detective. Pretty whacked, if you ask me."

"I didn't," said Pete. He sighed again. _Some eighty-year-old fossil goes and does himself in with pills, and the precinct captain decides to pull a detective off of his real casework to look over shoulders and dot all the i's… New Yorkers' tax dollars at work._ Pete walked over to the window and held the baggie up under the sunlight. The note had been inked in very neat cursive. It read: _"Seventy years now. Can't go on. Can't wait any longer. It's hopeless. Want to go back, but I can't. It won't let me through. No way in. The Lion must not want me. My Wardrobe won't work anymore."_

Pete gave a low whistle. "You weren't kidding. This Professor Kirke must've been a few doughnuts shy."

Two forensic technicians came down the stairs towing the body-bag between them. They didn't so much as nod at the detective. They just headed straight out the front door.

"Wait here," said Pete. "I'm gonna go take a look at the scene."

He left the two officers standing in the living room and marched slowly up the staircase. _Creepy place_ , he thought. _I'd probably off myself too, if I had to live_ _here_ _all alone_.

A door at the top of the stairs stood half-open. Pete went in. It was the professor's study. Books and papers were stacked ceiling-high all over the place. There were more books on mythology and folklore here than on history. An outline made of white tape showed that Kirke's body had been found sitting in the red leather easy-chair by the fireplace. Pete made a cursory examination of the room and, finding nothing out of the ordinary, left.

He was just about to head back down the stairs, when something else caught his eye. There was another open door, this one at the end of the hall. Pete could feel a cool draught coming from that direction. Carefully, he made his way down the hall and pushed this door all the way open. Another staircase lay beyond, with narrow, steep steps, clearly leading up to an attic. Curious, Pete took hold of the rickety hand-railing and mounted this new flight of stairs.

The attic above Digory Kirke's house was almost completely bare. It was empty, save for one conspicuous piece of furniture: an enormous wooden wardrobe, set against the far wall. The cold blast of air was definitely coming from up here; probably a crack in the insulation, thought Pete. Then, he remembered the bizarre note. Kirke had mentioned his wardrobe. In fact, it was probably the last thing that the old man had ever tried to tell anybody. For that reason alone, it was worth a little look-see.

Pete crossed the attic, the floorboards creaking under his feet with each step. He tried the knob of the wardrobe; it was unlocked. The door swung open easily, noiselessly. Inside, there was nothing but coats. A whole row of big, brown fur coats. Pete shrugged. Pushing past the coats, he felt around, searching for the back of the wardrobe. The air up here… Pete shivered. It was just so cold…

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

PETE stumbled ahead, tripping headlong into the wardrobe. Only, instead of smacking his forehead on the back wall like he was expecting, he landed face-first in a pile of… wait a minute… snow? Pete scrambled to his feet. It _was_ snow! He looked all about in confusion and shock. There were no more fur coats; only pine boughs. In fact, there was no wardrobe; up through the canopy of branches, Pete could see stars and open sky. He swallowed. "What the hell…?"

Pete shivered and clutched his trenchcoat tighter about himself. It was freezing out here! He'd catch his death unless he could find shelter, and soon. Pete pressed on through the oppressively close pine-branches, slogging straight through the snowdrifts, stumbling occasionally, and paying little heed to any thought or feeling besides the urgent need to be anywhere else but here. He soon lost all sense of direction, little realizing that in his confusion, he was wandering further and further away from the wardrobe and home with each step…

Eventually, Pete came to a clearing in the woods. Finally free of the poking, tickling pines, he stopped for breath and looked around. His gaze quickly landed on the unusual object in the center of the clearing: an old-fashioned lamppost of all things, just standing in the middle of nowhere, burning away (heaven only knew, burning _what_ ) to no discernible purpose! Detective Pevensie could do nothing but gape confusedly when confronted with this sight.

Then there came a distinctive sound: humming. Somebody was approaching the clearing. Pete cast about for a convenient place to hide, but there were none. So, quietly as he could manage, he reached for the .38 revolver tucked into the holster on his shoulder harness; and he waited.

Presently, the humming became clearer, and into the open came a man—but quite a little one, Pete saw right away, for although he had a wizened face and a long reddish-white beard, he stood not more than three feet tall. The little man was clad all in furs, and in his hands, he clutched a two-bladed axe. The very instant he appeared, both Pete and the little dwarf brandished their weapons, the dwarf gripping his axe in a defensive stance and Pete holding out his revolver in two hands.

" _Don't move!"_ shouted Pete.

All at once, the dwarf's eyes went wide and he threw his axe down into the snow. Falling to his knees and putting up his hands, he pleaded, "Don't cast, don't cast!"

Pete stared. "Cast…?"

"From your crooked silver wand, Master! O mighty warlock, I beseech you! Spare this humble wretch, your servant! I couldn't bear to be hexed… or," here, the dwarf swallowed, " _transformed._ "

Pete looked down at his pistol, more confused than ever. "Warlock? What in the living _hell_ are you talking about?"

The dwarf looked at Pete curiously. "Am I to understand then, good sir, that you are _not,_ in fact, a warlock?"

"No! What on Earth would make you think that I'm a warlock!?"

"Earth? _On_ the earth? What a queer turn of phrase. What in Narnia, I think you mean; and to answer your question… well, you look like one."

"I… look… like one," Pete said slowly, glaring darkly at the dwarf.

"Well, you know," said the dwarf, standing up and putting his hat in hands. "All skin and no fur, except for your head. And basically dwarf-shaped, but about twice as tall. Or giant-shaped, and half as high. All depends on how you measure. Plus, you've got a silver wand."

Pete rolled his eyes and held out his .38 for the dwarf to see. "This isn't a wand, it's a weapon! It doesn't shoot curses; it kills!"

"A mighty device of magic indeed then," replied the dwarf. "You must be a wizard of _some_ kind, Master, for what else could you be?"

"Uh… a man? A human being? _Homo sapiens_?"

The dwarf's eyes bugged, wide as saucers, stunned as he was by Pete's admission. "You mean to tell me that you are, in fact, human? A Son of Adam?"

Pete shrugged. "I guess you could put it that way. If you believe in old myths."

The dwarf ignored Pete and said to himself, thoughtfully stroking his beard, "Then… you will not oppose the Witch with her own kind of sorcery. The prophecy… might just be true!" Before Pete could sputter another question about witches or prophecies, the dwarf darted forward (paying no heed now to the human's "silver wand of death") and seized him by the hand. "Come, we must hurry! Haste and secrecy… that is the answer, good Master—oh, er, what am I to call you, then?"

Pete followed the dwarf away from the clearing, trudging once again back into the shadowy wood and drifting snow. "My name is Peter Pevensie. Detective Investigator Pete Pevensie."

"'Detective Investigator?' What in Narnia is that?"

"It means I'm a cop," said Pete. When the dwarf only turned and gave Pete a confused look over his shoulder, the human explained, "A police officer? A… uh… a constable? A sheriff? A bailiff? A gendarme?" he went on, trying every old word for "cop" that he knew.

"Ah!" said the dwarf at last, finally catching on. "A guardsman! A warden of justice! Well," he sniffed, "I suppose that's _kind_ of like a soldier. Still, if you're all that's come…" his voice trailed off.

"What do you mean?" asked Pete quietly. "What the hell is going on? How did I get here?"

"…No, no, no!" the dwarf said to himself. "You _must_ be it. There hasn't been a Son of Adam in Narnia for… for centuries!"

Pete opened his mouth to speak, but the dwarf stopped him in a tone more fierce and rebuking than he'd heard from the little man yet.

"No, Master Peter, no more questions! The White Witch has spies everywhere, and the trees… the trees have ears. Come with me, quickly and quietly. I'll lead you aright, upon my beard, or I'm not Lumpkin of the Red Dwarves!"

* * *

Pete followed Lumpkin through the woods until he came at last to a small hovel, little more than a tiny house built into the roots of a great gnarled tree. "This way, Master!" said Lumpkin. "It's not much, but it's home. Of course, nobody has much of anything these days, but still, we press on…"

Pete ducked his head through the front door and went in behind the dwarf. Inside the hovel, he saw what actually appeared to be a very cozy home. There were little dwarf-sized chairs around a dwarf-sized table, a little bed in the corner, and a couple of stools in front of a fireplace.

"Bless me!" said Lumpkin. "I went out for firewood, but forgot all about it when I saw you. Rest yourself for a bit here, Master Peter—"

"Whoa, okay, hold it with this 'Master' business, little guy. It's just Pete. You got that?"

The dwarf looked at Pete curiously and then repeated his name. "Pete. Yes, I suppose I'll manage, at that! Half a moment, then, Pete, and I'll be back with some wood for a nice, warm fire! Er… I suppose… the bed or the table might be big enough for you to sit on, only…"

Pete chuckled. "The floor's fine. Don't worry, pal, I won't risk breaking your furniture."

The dwarf grinned, bowed politely, and then took up his axe and left Pete alone in the tiny house.

When Lumpkin returned, Pete woke up and found himself sprawled on the cold floor. He didn't remember dozing off, but that impromptu hike through the winter wonderland had been more taxing than he'd known. He shivered and sneezed, even as Lumpkin rushed over to the fireplace to kindle a blaze.

"Oh dear, oh dear, this will never do at all! Let me get a fire started, and once you've warmed your bones a bit, then we'll have some cheer."

A short while later, the dwarf's home did indeed seem much cheered. Lumpkin set his table with some breads and cheeses and a few mugs of strong, dark beer. As they ate and drank, Pete carried on a conversation with the dwarf. "The thing is, I have no idea how I got here. The last thing I remember, I was in Brooklyn, in New York, looking around in an old house… and then, whoosh, I was in the woods, and there was a lamppost, and it was winter—"

"Well there's no surprise there, at least," commented Lumpkin. "It's always winter here."

"Where are we then, the North Pole? Somehow, you don't strike me as one of Santa's elves."

Lumpkin spat out a mouthful of beer. "Call me an elf, do you? Of all the insulting… look here, Sir! It is always winter in Narnia because our land is under a curse! While the White Witch reigns as queen in Narnia, it is always ice and snow… and the power of her magic keeps even the jolly old saint away. Can you imagine it, always winter, but never Christmas? No Santa, no presents, no happy times…"

"Well now I _know_ I'm dreaming," muttered Pete. "Step through a wardrobe into another universe with magic and witches, and—and dwarves! And they have Christmas here, apparently, and you speak English—"

"Narnish," corrected Lumpkin. "I'm speaking plain Narnish, and I must say, you do quite well for a foreigner."

Pete just scoffed and made a rude noise. "But why did it happen? Magic's _not real_ in my world. This defies explanation!"

"Ah, well," said the dwarf, "that brings us down to business at last. To the prophecy."

"I don't believe in prophecy."

"Well, you're here, aren't you? And what would be the point, if it weren't to fulfill the prophecy?" The dwarf glared at Pete. "Stubborn, that's what you are. Stubborn! Now, sit you there and listen well: the White Witch has cursed this land and made it winter for a thousand years, and the curse will last until the true king of Narnia sits upon the High Throne in the great palace of the east, Cair Paravel! And what's more, the true king can only be a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve—a human being! You're all we've got, my friend. Nobody can break the spell but you. You're it."

Pete fell silent at that. It all seemed too fantastic; too far-fetched, too unreal. This dwarf meant to make him a _king?_ He couldn't be a king! He was just a New York cop! It all had to mean something else. Anything else. This king business was nonsense.

"Here, lad," said the dwarf, sliding Pete another mug. "Have a drink. You look like you need it."

"You're right," he said. "I do."

Pete took a generous swallow of the heavy beer and asked Lumpkin, "So what about this White Witch? She's certainly got _you_ shaking in your boots. Is she a really wicked witch?"

"Oh yes," whispered Lumpkin.

"Then it's a pity I had to come by wardrobe," laughed Pete, "and not by cyclone. Then I could've dropped a farmhouse on her."

"Oh dear," said the dwarf. "I'm sorry, Sir Peter of New York, I truly am…"

"Wha—? What're ya talkin' about, Lumpkin?" Pete slurred.

"I told you about the witch and the prophecy, because I wanted to you know," said the dwarf. He frowned and wrung his beard in his hands and looked down at his shuffling feet. "I wanted you to understand why I did what I did. Because I had to, don't you see? The witch has spies everywhere. I couldn't hide you. I knew that you'd already been spotted. That she was already on her way."

"What the…" Pete lurched forward, but his vision was starting to blur. "The beer… you drugged… the beer…"

"I'm so sorry, Son of Adam. I should have had hope… but hope left these lands long ago."

That was all that Pete remembered before he slumped onto the floor and blacked out.


	2. Chapter 2

WHEN Pete came to, he rolled over and groaned. His head was pounding like the mother of all hangovers. He tried his voice but only managed to gurgle something. He looked around. Everything was still blurry; his eyes didn't want to focus. "You little bastard," he rasped. "You… tricked me."

"Easy now," echoed a voice. "Sit up slowly."

Pete did sit up, but that caused his head to throb even worse. He winced. "Ow… this universe _sucks_."

"It's no use whining, my friend. There's no time. I mean it now, we must make all haste!"

Pete's vision finally cleared, and he realized that he was still in Lumpkin's hovel. The dwarf was standing over him with a bucket of cold water, and Pete noticed for the first time that he was sopping wet. He sputtered and reached for a towel (his groping hands found Lumpkin's bedspread) to dry his face with.

"Get up!" ordered the dwarf. "Dry off, so you don't catch your death outside; but there's no time to take any coffee, I'm afraid. You'll just have to walk off the drug." Lumpkin stepped forward to help Pete to rise, but he found the cold muzzle of Pete's pistol pressed against his nose.

"Get away from me," growled Pete. To emphasize the point, he cocked the revolver's hammer.

"Please! I only want to help you!"

"My head _really_ can't take any more of your _help_ ," said Pete. "Just… back off!"

Lumpkin did as he was asked and backed away.

"That's it… now, get away from the door. I'm getting the hell out of here."

"As well you should," nodded Lumpkin, "but once you're out there, how will you avoid the wolves?"

At that moment, a distant howl pierced the gloomy stillness of the night.

"They are the witch's servants," said the dwarf. "They come for you. And for me."

Pete scrambled onto his hands and knees. "Why would the bad guys come for you? You tried to sell me out—didn't you?"

Lumpkin calmly replied, "Just be thankful that I've had a change of heart. Trust me or don't, it makes no difference now. But I can promise you this with all sincerity: you'll fare far better with me than you will at the tender mercies of Her Majesty's bloodthirsty enforcers!"

Another howl sounded in the night. The wolves were drawing closer. Pete looked out through the little window, out into the dark and the cold. He had to decide, right now, who to trust… "All right. But first, you have to tell me where we're going—"

"In due time, Sir Peter! Here, we cannot tell whether we are in fact alone. Therefore, we shall have to plan as we travel." As he spoke, Lumpkin hastily gathered food and clothes and stuffed them into a knapsack. Not having anything more productive to do, Pete only sat and watched. After a glance over his shoulder, Lumpkin shook his head at Pete and said, "Here, lad, get up!" Pete was shooed off into the corner of the room, while Lumpkin bent down to pry the carpet up from the floor. "Here now," he said, "put this on. It will have to do until we can find a proper cloak in your size." He handed the rug to Pete, who draped it on his shoulders, over his trenchcoat. Lumpkin wasn't done, though, for pulling up the rug had revealed a trapdoor in the floor. "This way, my lad; for if we take to the woods, they'll only find our scent and run us down!"

Pete followed the dwarf through the trapdoor and down into a muddy, root-lined tunnel. The passage had clearly only ever been meant for dwarves; Pete almost had to crawl to keep up with Lumpkin. "You still haven't answered me," grumbled Pete. "What would they want _you_ for?"

Lumpkin said, "Oh, make no mistake, Sir Peter. I should be very well-treated indeed for turning the likes of you over to Her Majesty! At first, that is. They wouldn't harm me, you see; they'd recruit me. Those that prove their loyalty and their cleverness are rewarded with _service_ —service in the queen's enforcers."

"So they'd make you a cop?"

"A thug. Or a spy. Or a killer. Certainly no keeper of the peace. And then, of course, it would only last until I proved too clever for my own good. After that, well…" Lumpkin fell silent when he pushed his way past a particularly thick batch of roots.

"Well, what?" Pete followed the dwarf through the tight spot in the tunnel.

"Oh, the same thing that happens to all that fall from the White Witch's favor: I would… disappear."

Try as he might, Pete couldn't get Lumpkin to elaborate on that point. But one thing was now perfectly clear: in saving him, the dwarf was still only preserving his own miserable hide.

* * *

They emerged from the tunnel covered head to toe in filth and grime. But for all that, at least the underground passage had been fairly warm and shielded from the wind. Now, the biting cold of winter struck with full force, making Pete doubly miserable. There was no time to waste on complaints, though, for the wolves were yet in pursuit. In fact, they had probably already made it to Lumpkin's home. Even now, the wolf-cries sounded in the distance. The pair hurried out into the night, taking care to make as little noise as possible. They were leaving tracks in the snow, of course, but there was nothing that either Pete or Lumpkin could hope to do about that. Soon, they came to a steep embankment that fell into a deep, rocky gorge which seemed to split the whole forest in half. There was no visible way to cross. "Great," muttered Pete. "Where to now, O fearless leader?"

Lumpkin shot Pete a look and said, "This way, to the right! The bank will get shallower as we move." And indeed, as they trekked along the side of the gorge, the crevasse itself became narrower, and the sides of the ridge became less and less steep, until soon there was hardly any gorge at all.

Then came another howl, ringing close and clear in the stillness of the woods, and suddenly the two fugitives knew that they weren't just found—they were set upon from all sides. Pete could see the glint of yellow eyes reflecting in the moonlight, spreading out, surrounding them, pairs of eyes in all directions in groups of twos and threes. "Quick!" cried Lumpkin. "Back, back, we must fly into the gorge!"

"Are you insane?" shouted Pete. "We'll be trapped!" Nevertheless, he followed the dwarf, hoping against hope that the little wretch knew what he was doing.

Lumpkin and Pete ran into the low creek-bed, while on either side of them, the banks rose up above their heads, boxing them in an ever-deepening canyon. It was dreadfully rocky, and often slick with ice, and at times, Pete had to pick his way carefully to avoid slipping. All the while, he grumbled and complained, and Lumpkin said nothing. At last, the dwarf pointed to the rock wall on their left. A small opening, barely four feet wide and high, sat in the canyon-side. "There! Take to the cave!"

Lumpkin climbed into the hole and walked comfortably inside. Pete didn't have to climb, but he did have to crouch to get in. "Where does this cave go?" Pete asked.

"Nowhere, I'm afraid," said Lumpkin, examining the back of the tiny cavern. "It's a dead-end. But at least it's defensible—at the cave mouth, we can make our stand where the wolves can't surround us!" To emphasize the point, the dwarf drew a long knife that served one of his height rather like a short sword.

Pete and Lumpkin went back to the cave mouth. It wasn't long before the sound of many paws on rocks came echoing down the gorge. Then, from around a boulder, there came a pack of gray-furred wolves running two-by-two. They were sniffing along the bed of the gorge, panting, yelping, occasionally crying out. Finally, they came to the cave and surrounded the opening in a half-circle.

"This is it," said Lumpkin. "Stand fast!"

"What are they waiting for?" Pete whispered. He'd never seen dogs this well-trained, let alone wild wolves.

"For Maugrim," answered the dwarf, "their chief."

Now the half-circle of gray wolves parted, and an immense black-furred canine padded its way into the open. It had a wild, frenzied look in its eyes, and its red tongue hung out the side of its mouth, while clouds of breath formed from its muzzle. Then it did something that really put Pete on edge: it spoke. "Here, kitty, kitty," it growled in a deep, mocking voice. "Come out and play with the pups!"

Pete gaped at Maugrim, then at Lumpkin. "Did… uh, did that wolf just talk?"

"Of course," said Lumpkin, never taking his eyes off of the wolf. "Many animals in Narnia are gifted with speech. Not all of them, of course—just the very intelligent ones. Like Maugrim."

Pete just shook his head and pulled out his gun. "Oh no. No. No, thank you! Dwarves, okay. Witches, maybe. But Disney animals? That's where I draw the goddamn line!" Lumpkin tried to hold him back, but Pete just shrugged off the dwarf and clambered out of the cave. He stood in front of the pack of wolves and pointed his pistol at Maugrim. "You there. Fido. You looking for me?"

The wolf laughed and growled, "Yeah. You're the one. Definitely," he sniffed the air, "different. It looks like the Queen wants to see you, so you're going to come with us. Right after," he licked his chops and snapped his jaws, "we _play_ with the roly-poly little dwarf hiding in the hole."

"Right," said Pete. Then he squeezed the trigger and shot Maugrim twice between the eyes. The wolf fell dead, steam rising from the wound as blood leaked out onto the canyon floor. Pete turned his gaze on the rest of the wolf-pack and waved his pistol where they could all see it. "Anybody else got anything clever to say?"

The wolves, frozen in their tracks, looked at one another in confusion. Then, without a word, without a noise, they turned and ran back down the gorge, tails between their legs.

 _Lucky,_ thought Pete. _But now I've only got four bullets left. Better make every shot count from here on._

Lumpkin climbed down from the cave and gaped at the dead wolf. In a quiet voice, he said, "A silver wand of fire and death…" Then, clapping Pete on the back, he laughed with joy and said, "You've done it! There's hope for all of us yet, oh yes, my word! You just might be the one to save Narnia after all!"

Pete was looking down at the dead wolf too, but he didn't feel Lumpkin's joy. It wasn't just some dumb animal he'd killed. It was… well, Pete didn't know quite what to think it was. But it wasn't good. And that gave him a really bad feeling about whatever was coming next. "What now?" he asked.

"Indeed, the very question!" said Lumpkin. "But I've an idea, if you'll bear with me." As he spoke, Lumpkin led Pete back out of the canyon. Soon they would regain the woods and resume their journey on the other side of the gorge. "Not far from here, only a few hours' walk to the south, the White Witch has a garrison. A fortress filled with soldiers!"

Pete _definitely_ had a bad feeling. "Go on."

"These are no ordinary troops. It's a cavalry garrison. Centaur soldiers! They bear no love for the White Witch and only serve in her army because they are pressed into it. One look at you, though, and every centaur in Narnia will defect to our side! I'm sure of it!"

"Our side?" repeated Pete. "Just what side is that, exactly?"

Lumpkin paused and looked up at Pete. Lowering his voice, he said with reverence, "Aslan's side."

"Aslan?"

"Oh, plenty of time for all that soon enough," chuckled Lumpkin. "Come, Sir Peter of New York, slayer of wolves and savior of dwarves! Soon, you shall be praised as liberator of centaurs and, and—"

"Leader of the Rebel Alliance?" supplied Pete with a laugh.

"Rebel Alliance?" echoed Lumpkin with distaste. "Ah, well, it's your choice. I suppose it has a… _certain_ ring to it."

Pete laughed long and hard at the poor dwarf's confusion.


	3. Chapter 3

DAWN was still an hour away when Pete and Lumpkin emerged from the forest and took to hiking over open plains. A thin layer of ice had formed on the surface of the snow, and the two travelers _crunched_ with every step. The cold had only grown worse as night had deepened into early morning, and Pete was honestly afraid that he might develop frostbite. But even for all his present misery, he was thankful, at least, to be safe from the wolves for now. His safety, after all, would probably only last until they got to where they were going. It was best to enjoy that while it lasted.

"It's not at all far now," Lumpkin said. "We've only got to cross this field and climb a small hill. The fort is at the top, near the opposite slope, where it can overlook the river."

Pete just nodded, sniffled, and sneezed. Lumpkin's rug didn't make a very warm winter coat.

After that, they trudged on in silence, making for the low and flat-topped hill that the full moonlight outlined in the distance.

* * *

When they crested the hill, Pete could finally see the garrison. The walls were wooden, built of tall timbers and fortified with palisades and battlements. Actually, it rather reminded Peter of the forts from old westerns and Civil War movies; except that the fortress's towers and flagpoles were all sporting some distinctly medieval banners. Each flag flying from one of the fort's parapets depicted a white snowflake on a field of icy blue, only just visible by the moonlight. This then, Pete decided, must be the symbol of the infamous White Witch—a person he'd never met who already wanted him dead.

"Stay low to the ground," said Lumpkin, "but don't dawdle! We must make the walls of the fortress by sunrise, or we'll be spotted for sure!"

Pete did just as Lumpkin said, but as they crept over the hilltop, Pete said, "I don't s'pose you've thought about how we're going to get inside?"

"As to that," said Lumpkin, "as long as we make it before dawn breaks… ah! There! Look."

Pete's eyes followed Lumpkin's pointing hand. They were close enough to the walls to make out the guard towers in some detail; but no sentries could be seen. From the outside, the fortress might have been deserted for all that mattered. But the dwarf was pointing lower, to a small ditch that ran from a gap in the fortress walls, all the way down the hill and into the river. It was a sewage trough.

"Aw, crap," grumbled Pete.

"Precisely," Lumpkin smirked.

Pete rolled his eyes at the dwarf and looked up at the towers again. "Why do you think nobody's keeping watch?" he asked.

"What for?" returned Lumpkin. "None live in Narnia that might dare oppose the witch, and foreigners never come here for fear of her power. This fortress has no defensive purpose! No, my friend, garrisons like this one exist for one reason only: to keep the tribes of centaurs, fauns, dwarves, and others all disunited and dependent on the Crown for their livelihoods."

Pete nodded. "Okay. And you think the people here just need a little kick in the pants, a leader to give them something to fight for, and they'll revolt? Just like that?"

"That's what I'm hoping," said Lumpkin. "Of course, it might take some convincing… but surely, the sight of a Son of Adam in Narnia shall be more than enough!"

"I sure hope you're right, little guy," said Pete.

"I'm sure I'm right!" said Lumpkin. "And I'll thank you not to call me 'little guy' in the future. That is, if you wish to retain my friendship!"

"Yeah, right," grinned Pete. "Whatever, lit—er, Lumpkin."

* * *

Covered in an unmentionable diversity of filth and waste, Pete climbed over the lip of the trough and rolled onto a floor of wooden planks. Reaching back down into the hole, he felt Lumpkin grasp both his arms, and he hauled the dwarf up behind him. They were in a wooden room, perhaps ten feet square and clearly meant to serve as a latrine for beings larger than humans or dwarves.

"Lumpkin," said Pete, casting off his makeshift cloak and fruitlessly wiping his begrimed shoes on the wood.

"Yes, Sir Peter?"

"Let's never speak of this again."

Lumpkin had been up to his waist in the runoff, so his discomfort literally dwarfed Pete's. "Agreed."

* * *

The two interlopers sneaked through a series of rooms which had been built along the inside of the fortress walls. At last, they came to a closed door, beyond which they could hear the sound of clanking and clattering. Lumpkin held a finger to his lips and cracked open the door. Then he and Pete peered through the crack. Ahead, the next room was a sort of kitchen. Stacks of barrels, crates, and coarse cloth sacks were everywhere. Pans and utensils hung from the walls and ceiling. A massive iron cauldron suspended from chains over a fire contained enough bubbling gruel to feed a small army. And tending to this oversized cookpot was a single small figure, not much taller than Lumpkin, but with green skin, long and pointy ears, a wart-covered nose, and slitted yellow eyes.

Pete heard a venomous growl issue from Lumpkin's throat. "Goblin," croaked the dwarf in an angry whisper.

The human laid a hand on Lumpkin's shoulder. "Easy there," he whispered back. "Don't go off half-cocked."

The dwarf just shot Pete a look of intense fury, and then he pushed his way through the kitchen door and stalked quietly towards the goblin. With superb stealth, Lumpkin drew his short sword from its scabbard. At the same time, the goblin's ears twitched, and it looked up from the cauldron. It whirled about and let out a yelp, only to be cut off by the dwarf's blade plunging through its throat. The cry became a gurgle, and the goblin died. Then Lumpkin put his foot on the creature's chest and gave it a good push, freeing his sword and sending the goblin's body tumbling backwards into the pot of gruel. It sank out of sight, and Lumpkin used a nearby dishrag to clean the black blood off his weapon.

Peter gaped at his compatriot. Lumpkin had dispatched of the goblin with such unhesitating swiftness… Once again, Pete was reminded not to underestimate the dwarf for his size. He came into the room and stood over Lumpkin, who looked back up at Pete and still wore that look of stone-cold anger. "I take it that dwarves don't like goblins very much?" Pete asked.

"No," said Lumpkin simply. "We don't."

Pete looked around at the kitchen. "You said this was supposed to be a garrison for centaurs."

Lumpkin walked over to the cauldron and stuck in a finger, drawing up a lump of the half-cooked foodstuff. Before Pete could react, Lumpkin licked the brownish-white glob off of his finger and smacked his lips. "Oatmeal," he said. "It's a favorite of centaurs. The goblin must've been the mess-cook, nothing more."

"So… you just whacked the cook? Because he was a goblin?"

"And because he might have sounded an alarm!" snapped Lumpkin. "Do not presume to judge me, human! Dwarves have long memories, and we hold deep grudges—"

At that moment, a bugle call rang throughout the fortress. Both Pete and Lumpkin could guess what that meant: dawn. Soon the soldiers would be awake.

* * *

Pete crept out into the courtyard in the center of the fort and ducked behind a stack of barrels. Lumpkin crouched beside him, and they both peered out from their concealment and watched. One after another, many centaurs, several dozen at least, gathered in the open yard and assembled in neat rows. Each wore mail armor with leather barding and carried both lance and sabre. In battle, knights such as these would make a formidable cavalry indeed.

Then, from another building within the fort, there appeared a female centaur. Her armaments were different from the rank-and-file troops: she wore plate armor that shone in the morning sunlight, with a matching helm and twin sabres sheathed at either hip. She trotted across the yard and took to inspecting the other centaurs as they stood at attention.

 _That must be their leader,_ Pete thought. He was just about to step into the open and greet the centaurs, when a tremor ran through the ground.

_Thud._

And then another, and another. _Thud. Thud._

In the center of the fortress was a keep of sorts, a large structure with two massive wooden doors in the front. The immense iron rings that served as door-handles shook and rattled with each new tremor, until finally the doors burst open, and a giant appeared. He resembled a man, but hideous in form and feature, and easily more than twice the height of Pete or any of the centaurs in the courtyard. The giant had stringy brown hair and a greasy beard; he was clothed only in furs and skins; and a tree-trunk sized club rested over one shoulder.

The female centaur in front of the troops quailed and saluted.

 _Okay_ , thought Pete. _She's just the aide-de-camp. The man in charge is Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Ugly there._ Pete swallowed. _And he doesn't look like a very jolly giant._

Now the giant approached the troops, and Pete could see that even these centaurs blanched at the sight of him. The giant half-smiled, half-sneered and shouted, "IN-SPEC- _SHUN!_ " The centaurs remained rooted in place as the giant stalked by and carried out his inspection.

Pete wasn't sure what exactly happened after that. At some point during the examinations, the giant became displeased for some reason, balled up his fist, and punched one of the centaur troops in the head. That centaur, and several others nearby, were all knocked onto the ground in a tangled heap. The armored centauress tried to protest, but the giant, now in a violent mood, reared up his club to strike her as well. That was when Pete emerged from hiding.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Big guy!"

The giant, startled, turned around. All of the centaurs, including the female in the shiny armor, just stared blankly at the newcomer.

"Yeah," Pete continued. "I'm talking to you!"

The giant drew himself up to his full height and shouldered his enormous club. "Who are you, little thing?"

Pete's knees were knocking together, and he was sweating bullets. But to his credit, he managed to keep his voice from quavering. He tried to tell himself that the bluster, the bravado, all the acting, was just like interrogating a suspect, something he'd done a million times before. He forced himself to sound casual. "Who do _you_ think I am?"

The giant stomped across the yard and stood over Pete. "Tell me your name," he rumbled, "and how you got inside this fortress!"

"First, you tell me," said Pete, "how's the weather up there?"

The giant's face twisted with confusion.

"Is it chilly? Because I think it'd be kind of chilly at that elevation. How you keep from catching colds? Orange juice? Plenty of… vitamin… C…?"

Pete's voice began to trail off when the giant's mood darkened again. The glowering hulk bent down and stared Peter in the face. "Are you an agent of Queen Jadis? Have you been sent to usurp my command?"

"Ah… yes! Yes I am. Her Majesty sent me to… uh… take command of the garrison. Your orders are to… um… report back to the Queen's castle. Immediately."

The giant's eyes narrowed. "Show me the writ."

Pete stammered, "Um… the writ?"

"The orders," growled the giant. "I will relinquish command when I see the royal seal!"

"Oh, _that_ writ!" said Pete. "Hang on. I have it right here." He reached for his pistol and muttered under his breath, " _Well, it was worth a try._ "

The giant must have sensed the deception, though. Ether that, or he wasn't about to give up his position, even under royal orders. He stood up again and gripped his club in both hands, raising it up over his head.

Pete's immediate thought was, _He's gonna squash me!_ So, Pete drew his gun and took careful aim at the spot between the giant's eyes. _Have to make every shot count_ …

But Pete hesitated too long. The club came swinging down, and Pete had to dive and roll to get out of the way. He came up on his knees and aimed again, but the giant swept his club to the side, only clipping the human, and that was enough. The gun fired (where the bullet went, Pete would never know), but it was torn from Pete's grasp. As for Pete, he went sailing through the air at least ten feet. He hit the ground hard, rolling and skidding in the dirt. Bruised and battered, choking on the dust, he could barely stand.

The giant closed in again. Pete managed to get up on all fours, coughing. A sharp pain lanced through his chest—that grazing blow had broken some ribs! Pete looked up. Overhead, the giant grinned with malicious, victorious glee. The club came up again. This was it. Then Pete heard a voice… a woman's voice…

"Lances!"

The giant suddenly turned around. Pete couldn't see, but he heard the sound of clanking metal and clattering wood.

"Company! _Charge!_ "

Pete heard the sound of galloping hooves and stout lances piercing giant-hide. The giant roared and raged, taking wound after wound, but soon, he screamed no more. Pete looked up again. The giant stood, his back to Peter, his body riddled with the centaurs' pole-arms. He was dead… and he was falling backwards.

"Aw crap," choked Pete. The giant's left arm landed right on top of him. He blacked out again.


	4. Chapter 4

PETE jerked and snapped awake. "What the—? What happened?"

"Easy," said a voice. "You're really very lucky. Rather brave, a little clumsy, and obviously quite stupid; but most of all, lucky."

Pete tried to roll over, and a dull pain shot through his midsection. He looked down. His clothes were gone, except for his shorts. Stiff cloth bandages were wound around his chest. And he was in a bed, sort of. It was really just a large mattress sitting on the floor, with some sheets and blankets heaped on top.

"You've got some nasty broken bones; we've tended to those. And your clothes are being washed as we speak. What did you do, sneak in through the privy?"

Now Pete finally got a good look at his caretaker. It was the centaur woman from the yard. Her helmet was gone. Ringlets of golden hair ran down her shoulders. Large blue eyes stared at Pete with a mixture of fascination and scorn.

"You ordered your soldiers to kill the giant," said Pete. "You saved my life."

"Consider us even," said the centauress. "You probably saved my life as well, stepping in when you did. Still, it was damned foolish."

"You're telling me?" laughed the human. "I'm Pete, by the way. Pete Pevensie. What do they call you?"

"Penelope. It _was_ Lieutenant Penelope, but now that Captain Grubash is dead—"

"Was that the giant guy?" interrupted Pete.

"Yes. Grubash was arrogant, cruel, and wicked. Naturally, he was one of the White Witch's favorites. And now that he's dead…"

"That's a good question. Now that he's dead, what are you going to do?"

Penelope stared at the human for several moments. Finally, she said, "That depends greatly on you, Son of Adam."

"So you already know that part?"

The centauress nodded. "We centaurs have kept the legends alive. This land of Narnia used to be ruled by humans, long ago, before the witches came from the north. We haven't forgotten. In fact, we've been waiting for you."

"Great. Peachy." Pete turned himself around and sat up, ignoring the throbbing sensation that shot through his body again. "Lumpkin said… hey, by the way, where'd he go?"

"You mean your dwarf?" asked Penelope. "He hid himself behind some barrels while you fought with Grubash. He was hiding there still when we found him."

"Should've known. That gutless little—"

"You should know better than to expect bravery from a dwarf," said Penelope.

"Oh, trust me," said Pete. "I've seen what that twerp is capable of. So where is he now?"

"In the mess hall," answered Penelope, "enjoying some breakfast. My soldiers gladly gave up their shares when they found the… extra ingredient."

"Wonderful. As if I wasn't already gonna hurl…"

* * *

The fortress's mess hall was a high-ceilinged wooden dining chamber of immense proportions. Long tables stretched across the room, lined by unusual benches that had to be low to the ground, and wide and sturdy enough for centaurs to recline upon. The centaur troops were milling about this chamber in no small degree of confusion, for the most part talking quietly amongst themselves. In all the room, only Lumpkin was eating. He had to stand on one of the benches to reach the table. When Pete entered the room, he saw the dwarf and had to fight to keep from thinking about oatmeal.

Penelope helped the injured human limp into the room and sit at one of the tables. Soon, all attention in the room focused on Pete. The only sound to be heard was Lumpkin, slurping away with depraved relish. Pete began to squirm under the gaze of all these strange warriors. They were looking at him expectantly.

"Go on," whispered Penelope.

"With what?" asked Pete.

"They expect you to address them. To take command."

"But… but I…"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," said Lumpkin at last. He pushed his meal aside and scrambled up to stand on the table. "My friends!" he announced in a booming voice. "Captain Grubash, servant of the White Witch and traitor to all true Narnians, is no more! You have freed yourselves from his tyranny, and the question now stands, what will you do with that freedom?"

The centaurs turned and faced the dwarf. They seemed ready to listen.

"Here among us, once again, is a Son of Adam!" Lumpkin gestured to Pete, and as he did so, he looked over his shoulder and winked. The human nodded and gave Lumpkin a subtle thumbs-up. The dwarf continued, "There has not been a human being seen in Narnia since Jadis became queen, and now, here he stands. Surely it is a sign from Aslan!"

At this, all of the centaurs began to whisper excitedly. And that made Pete very uneasy. Lumpkin spoke of this Aslan person almost as if… as if he were their god.

"The time is upon us," said Lumpkin. "We must rally behind this man, Peter Pevensie, for he and he alone can lead us to freedom from the White Witch! We will cast off the yoke of her oppression, the spell of winter she has laid upon our lands, and the stain of evil and corruption that lives everywhere in Narnia today! What say you?"

With every sentence, the dwarf had increased the tempo and volume of his speech, and the centaurs became more and more agitated with each word. Hooves and lances beat against the wooden planks of the floor, and at last, they raised their arms, pumped their fists into the air, and cheered their agreement. Twice more, Lumpkin repeated, "What say you?" and twice more, the centaur soldiers cheered.

Finally, with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, Lumpkin climbed down off the table and sat next to Pete. "Your turn."

Pete shot Penelope an "I-told-you-so" look. Then, slowly, he stood. The room fell silent. And somehow, Pete just couldn't find the right words. He cleared his throat, but nothing came. The centaurs waited patiently.

"Say something," growled Penelope under her breath.

Lumpkin waved her away and whispered to Pete, "You can do it, my friend."

Pete nodded to the dwarf. Then he turned and faced the crowd. "I don't know what you've heard," he said, "but I'm not a soldier. I'm not warrior. I'm not a knight. I'm… just a man. And I haven't been in Narnia all that long, but from what little I've seen, this White Witch has made things pretty bad for everybody. And it looks like she's pretty powerful. So, if you want to get rid of her and start this revolution… you're going to need friends, because I don't think you can do it alone. Right now, there's nobody but us. But if we can make some allies, then we can stand up to the witch, and then we'll have a chance."

Once again, silence fell in the room. Then, one of the centaur knights spoke up. "And what happens, Peter Pevensie, when the White Witch learns of our mutiny? Soon she will send another of her agents to take this garrison back by force."

"What's your name?" asked Pete.

"Cyrus," replied the centaur. "Mine was the lance that pierced the heart of Grubash and ended his life."

"Great," said Pete. "You're the new lieutenant, Cyrus. We need one of those, seeing as how Penelope here is your captain now."

Penelope's mouth fell open. "I thought… you were going to take command?"

"What, me? I'm no military commander!" said Pete. "Nope, that's got to be your job. Now, Captain Penelope, what you think our next move should be?"

The centauress was still stunned, but she managed to stammer out, "Er, well, we couldn't hold if the Witch sends a force to retake the garrison. So we'll need to move quickly to liberate other strongholds and turn them to our side."

"Just what I was thinking," said Pete. "Lumpkin, I take it you approve?"

The dwarf nodded. "Of course. You seem to be a natural at this, by the way."

"Heck, I'm still just improvising," muttered Pete. "Lieutenant Cyrus! Do we have any maps around here?"

The centaur nodded. "Several, my—uh—forgive me, sir, but how am I to address you, if you refuse to take a rank?"

"Actually, my rank is Detective Investigator," said Pete with a smile, "but that's kind of a mouthful. So why don't you just call me 'Peter?'"

"That will never do!" scoffed Lumpkin. "Captain Penelope might be your commander, but Sir Peter is your liege lord now, and you will accord him every honor!"

Pete shook his head and tried to quiet Lumpkin, but it was too late. The damage was done. Cyrus nodded and said, "Very well, Sir Lumpkin, Milord Peter. I shall fetch the maps."

Pete sighed. "All right. Fine. Listen up, people! We'll meet back here to make plans at… oh, how about 1400 hours?"

"What does that mean?" asked Penelope.

"It means two o'clock in the afternoon. Now, if you'll excuse me, my ribs are killing me, so I'm going to go take a nap."

* * *

That afternoon, the troops once again gathered in the mess, this time to plan their next move. "There," said Penelope, pointing at a spot on the map where the river bent back towards the Western Woods, six or seven leagues south of the garrison. "The Beaver Dam. That's the nearest stronghold, and they'll make good allies."

"Who'll make good allies?" asked Pete.

"Why, the beavers, of course!" said Lumpkin. "As we speak, they slave away to build an ever-growing dam over the Great River, but if we turn them to our cause, they can aid us in building fortifications anywhere."

"Right," said Pete. "Beavers. Uh-huh. And do these beavers talk, like the Big Bad Wolf did?"

"Their leaders do," said Lumpkin. "Like all animals in Narnia, the dumb beasts will follow the lead of the intelligent, talking ones. If we can sway Mr. Beaver to our side, the rest will come with him."

Pete stared at Lumpkin. "'Mr. Beaver?'"

"What?"

"Never mind," sighed Pete. _I'm still not sure that this isn't all one big hallucination,_ he thought to himself cynically.

"The beavers are overseen by wolves in the Witch's service," said Penelope. "We must arm ourselves accordingly: bows, javelins, sabres. We'll have the best advantage if we can engage them on the open plains by the riverbank, so we need a plan to draw the wolves out into the open."

"That should be easy enough," said Lumpkin. "The Witch has already commanded her enforcers to find and kill Lord Peter." (Pete rolled his eyes at the honorific.) "One look at him, and the Beaver Dam will empty of wolves in no time at all."

"In other words, I get to be the bait," said Pete.

Penelope shook her head. "We can't risk you. There's got to be a better way."

"Nah, forget it," said Pete. "I'll do it. Just give me another two or three days to heal up. Then we march south."

Lt. Cyrus cleared his throat and said, "We have, at best, that long before the White Witch discovers us. With your leave, I'll post a watch and send out scouts. It must be seen to that our entire company is ready to march on a minute's notice."

"Agreed," said Penelope. "Make it happen."

Cyrus saluted and left the hall with most of the rest of the centaur troops.

"It's decided then," said Pete. "We march at sunrise, three days from now, unless we're found out sooner. In the meantime… I've got three days with nothing to do but wait. Have you got any good books around here?"

Penelope shook her head. "There used to be a library in the faun city of Silenopolis, but it was destroyed generations ago."

"The city or the library?" asked Pete.

"Both, probably," said Lumpkin.

"In that case… why don't the two of you start telling me all about Narnia?" Pete pulled a large map onto the table and gazed at the unfamiliar geography. All in all, Narnia was a pretty big country. It would take a long time for them to fight their way all across it. "Something tells me I'm going to need to know everything there is to know about this place."


	5. Chapter 5

THREE days passed, and no sign came from any agent of the Crown. The leaders of the incipient rebellion considered themselves fortunate and marched out from the centaur garrison, now known as the Alliance Enclave, at dawn on the third morning. Huddling under heavy cloaks, they marched slowly at first, for though centaurs could cover much ground quickly, they had a dwarf and an injured human among their number. Captain Penelope feared that this might pose a problem, since their plan depended on secrecy, and secrecy depended on swiftness.

"How are you feeling?" she asked Pete, once they were out of sight of the fortress.

Pete shivered in the cold and answered, "I'm still stiff and sore, if that's what you mean. It's going to be a while yet before I can do anything but sit on the sidelines and watch."

"It's a pity we don't have more time," said the centauress. "Right now, you can't fight, you can't run; we'll have to protect you as we do battle."

"Well, you need me to be the carrot on the stick. Wait, bad metaphor. Sorry." Pete looked over at Penelope and saw that she was frowning at him. "This is just a guess, but you don't like me very much, do you?"

"I will admit that you're not what I expected."

"Oh? And what were you expecting?"

"Somebody more… imposing."

Pete just chuckled softly (and then swallowed when his cracked ribs protested the motion).

Penelope's gaze softened. "If you like, I could carry you on my back. You and Lumpkin are only slowing us down, after all."

"Centaurs don't have some kind of… rule against that?"

"Not that I've ever heard. Come on, climb up," she said, patting her backside. "I'll tell Cyrus to carry the dwarf."

Pete looked back over his shoulder. Lumpkin was walking alongside the lieutenant and chatting idly away. The poor centaur looked bored to tears. "And I thought Grubash was a cruel captain," quipped Pete.

Penelope just smiled. "Lieutenant!" she shouted. "Carry Sir Lumpkin on your back. We're going to march double-time!"

Cyrus said nothing, but the exasperated look on his face spoke volumes. He reached down one arm, scooped up Lumpkin, and set the surprised dwarf behind him with a grunt.

"Now you," said Penelope.

"I don't know. I'm not exactly light… and you're not exactly a Clydesdale." In fact, as Pete had noted several days ago, Narnian centaurs weren't much bigger than riding-ponies. He didn't doubt that Penelope could bear his weight, but it would probably make her uncomfortable while they marched.

"You know, you make a lot of jokes," said the centauress as she helped Pete climb onto her back. "I don't understand half of them, but I get that you're making fun. Why do you do that?"

"It's probably a defense mechanism," said Pete. "You know, a barrier between my fragile sanity and the full weight of my situation? It hasn't really hit home yet." He tried a few awkward places to put his hands, not wanting to hold the centaur woman around the waist or anything, until finally, Penelope turned her torso half-way, grabbed Pete's hands to keep them from wandering, and placed them firmly on her pauldron-armored shoulders.

"What do you mean, 'hasn't hit home yet?'" she asked.

"The fact that…" Pete's voice trailed off. This was the moment, he realized. If he said it out loud, it would begin to feel real. He took a deep breath and let it out. "…that I'm in a strange world, with no way home, and I'm probably going to die here."

* * *

The Beaver Dam was an impressive structure, Pete had to give it that much. Sure, it was made of mud and sticks, but the sheer scale of the construction just defied all reason. If the Hoover Dam had been made by beavers, it would look like this. In a word, it was ridiculously big. The Great River was a pathetic, frozen trickle of ice south of the dam; and it was a solid white sheet to the north. The water didn't flow here, so if there was any reason to keep the beavers working on building it, it could only be that the White Witch wanted them occupied and out of the way, laboring to no purpose but the spite and malice of the frigid mistress of Narnia.

As they approached over the frozen plain, Pete cupped a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sunlight. That didn't do much good, with the sun reflecting off the snow, but eventually he could make out moving shapes, spots of brown crawling all over the dam. They were beavers—and there were _so many_ of them!

And then, too, there were grey specks coming out from the dam, running over the snowy ground in a wild loop. They were wolves, but only a few of them, perhaps half a dozen.

"There!" said Pete, pointing ahead. "They've sent out some scouts. Let me off! I have to walk out there so they can see me!"

"I have a better idea," said Penelope. "Hold on!" The centauress spurred herself to a full gallop, taking Pete along for the ride. He suddenly had to grip her torso tightly to avoid flying off—and it didn't help that he was riding without a saddle.

"I'm going to feel this in the morning, aren't I?" Pete groaned to nobody in particular.

Cyrus signaled for the other centaurs to hold their position, while Penelope dashed ahead. The wolves bounded over the snowdrifts, closing in on them with frightful speed. Then Pete felt a jerk, as Penelope turned hard and ran sidelong towards the river. The wolves turned, too, but now they were looping back to the dam. They disappeared inside, just as quickly as they'd appeared.

"Mission accomplished, Sir!" shouted Penelope over her shoulder. "They're sure to attack us in force now!" She turned again and headed back toward the company.

"Whoa, Nelly," gasped Pete, when Penelope finally slowed and came to a halt. "Next time… warn me… please!" Pete was breathless from his sudden ride.

Lt. Cyrus, still bearing Lumpkin, trotted up to his captain. "There, Ma'am!" he said, pointing out at the dam. "The enemy is wasting no time. See—they attack us already!"

Pete and Penelope turned around, and sure enough, a wave of gray was sweeping out from the dam. Wolves—dozens of vicious, slobbering, panting wolves—were heading straight at them. Penelope's voice rose over the others. "Archers! Arrows!"

Two ranks of lightly armored centauresses nocked arrows and drew back their bowstrings. "Steady!" came the captain's command. "Steady… _Loose_ _at will!_ " A hail of the deadly missiles arced into the sky, and several of the foremost wolves fell dead. Many more leapt over the corpses and continued running, even as the archers drew back for another volley.

Now Cyrus ordered, "Javelins!" He and the rest of the centaurs dashed forward, hurling the larger missiles before drawing curved sabres. All the while, Lumpkin clung tightly to the back of the lieutenant and kept his head down.

"I can protect you best if you stay right where you are," said Penelope. "Are you ready?" Another volley of arrows whizzed over their heads.

Pete nodded. "I won't move. Just go!"

Penelope hefted her javelin and charged into the fray. The gap between the centauress and the mass of wolves closed faster than Pete thought it would. Penelope quickly threw her missile into the enemy lines—it struck true—and then, the wolves were upon them. Pete didn't bother drawing his gun; there would have been no way to line up a steady shot in any case. Instead, he saw the two sabres dangling at either of Penelope's flanks, reached down, and drew one. Penelope drew her other sword at the same time and shot Pete a questioning glance over her shoulder. "I can be your second pair of hands!" said Pete. He hoped that it was true. At least riding on the centaur's back, he wouldn't have to move much or worry about aggravating his wounds.

There was no time to argue. Penelope drew a dagger from a sheath on her belt and held that in her left hand while she swung the sabre with her right. She careened into the mêlée and swept by a group of wolves which had climbed onto another centaur's back and were tearing into his flesh with claws and teeth. A swipe of the sword brought one of them down; a thrust from the dirk and another fell away. And then she was past them and swiping her weapons down at beasts rushing them from all sides.

Pete gripped the heavy sabre roughly in both hands. He was no swordsman; but if these centaurs had one weakness, it was the fact that they couldn't really guard against back-attacks, and the wolves were circling their foes and trying to surround them. The centaurs' only salvation was their speed, which let them cut through lines of wolves and dash past, only to circle back and charge again.

A pair of wolves appeared in the corner of Pete's vision. They were closing on in Penelope, nipping at her hindquarters. Pete swung the sword with all the strength he could muster—there was a sickening crunch and a splatter of red—and one of the canines fell. The other went for Pete's leg, snapping and growling, but Pete kicked. The wolf yelped and lost a few paces against Penelope. Then the centauress turned and swept back, cleaving the wolf's head with her own blade. "Thanks," she said to Pete.

"Thanks yourself!"

A howl sounded from the direction of the river. All at once, the wolves broke off the attack.

Cyrus ran past Penelope and shouted to the rest of the company, "They're retreating! Press the charge!" (From on the lieutenant's back, Lumpkin was waving his short sword in the air and shouting for the "slobbering cowards to come back and fight.") The cavalry gathered in a line behind Cyrus and ran after the fleeing wolves. Behind them, the field was covered with the bodies of countless wolves—and several centaurs.

* * *

By the time Pete and Penelope caught up to the others, the battle was over. The cavalry had cut down the last of the wolves, and the remainder fled away from the dam, turning instead along the river, to the north.

Cyrus gave a salute and said to Penelope, "This position is secure, Ma'am. The wolves have fled; the Beaver Dam is ours."

"Haha!" shouted Lumpkin. "The mangy buggers have fled with tails between their legs! We've won our first victory this day!"

Penelope didn't share the dwarf's celebratory mood. "Send archers after the last of the wolves," she ordered. "If there's even a chance that we can keep them from reporting back to the White Witch, we have to take it."

"Ay, Captain," said Cyrus with another salute. He let Lumpkin off of his back and then went to carry out Penelope's wishes.

Pete, too, dismounted. "How do we find the leader of the beavers?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't imagine that will very difficult," said Penelope. "We're rather conspicuous."

Pete grinned. "Yeah, and some of us are more conspicuous than others."

Sure enough, a pair of beavers were walking—on their hind legs—towards Pete from the riverbank. When they saw Pete, one of them exclaimed, " _By the Lion!_ "

The other one, in a feminine voice, swatted the male beaver and said, "Father! Language!"

"Sorry, Mother. I'm sorry, dear!" They waddled up to Pete and bowed low. "Hello!" said the beaver. "I'm Mr. Beaver; this is the Mrs.; and you—I can hardly believe it's happened, at last— _you_ are a Son of Adam!"

"Pete Pevensie," said Pete by way of introduction. "It's, uh, nice to meet you… Mr. Beaver." Pete suppressed the urge to make a wisecrack.

"We can't thank you enough for taking care of those bloodthirsty beasties," said Mr. Beaver.

"Vicious animals," agreed Mrs. Beaver. She shuddered. "The _terrible_ things they would do to us…"

"Mostly eating a few of us whenever they fancied," explained Mr. Beaver. "So what's the story then, Mr. Pevensie? After all these years, is the war on at last?"

Pete was struck a little speechless by the nature of the question and the eagerness in the beaver's voice. (And, yes, by the fact that he was a _beaver_.) Luckily, Penelope answered for him: "Yes, good Master Beaver. War will be upon us soon, and we shall need your help."

"You've got it, then," said the beaver in all seriousness. "If there's any gnawing or building that you need done, you just call on us! Nobody builds like I beaver, I always say!"

"You never say that, dear," said his wife.

"I _always_ say—"

Pete whistled. Both of the beavers turned and looked at him. "Whoa, okay there. Let's make this official. Mr. Beaver… from here on out, you are _Chief_ Beaver of the Alliance Corps of Engineers. Both gnawing _and_ building divisions."

Mr. Beaver's eyes gleamed and he snapped a smart salute. "Ay-ay, Sir! You can count on me, that you can!"

Pete nodded and turned to Penelope. "There's a good chance that most of those wolves got away, isn't there?"

"Yes," she answered. "I wasn't exaggerating when I said that war is upon us. It's only a matter of time now."

"All right then. Where to next? If it's war, we need soldiers."

"Silenopolis," offered Lumpkin. "The homeland of the fauns. You couldn't find better soldiers."

"I thought Silenopolis was destroyed," said Pete.

"It was," said Lumpkin. "But the fauns are a people of the forest. Their city might be destroyed, but the Western Woods are their domain, make no mistake. If we wish to make contact with the satyr-folk, that is where we must go."

"Silenopolis," said Penelope. She flagged down one of the centaur cavaliers and commanded, "Pass the word. We march for the city of the fauns on the morrow!"


	6. Chapter 6

ANOTHER couple of days saw Pete, Lumpkin, Penelope, and company camped at the edge of the Western Woods. They had wasted no time at the Beaver Dam; it was a conspicuous location, and they had to keep on the move. But even centaur troops needed rest, and they couldn't march all the time. So now they waited at the edge of the woods.

Pete sat on a rock by a half-frozen stream, shaving the stubble off of his face with a razor he had borrowed from one of the centaurs. The human had gotten "scruffy," as he liked to phrase it, in the week or so that he'd been in Narnia; and he decided that it was high time he cleaned himself up. That was easier said than done in the dead of winter, but Pete managed to make do with what he had.

Pete turned his gaze up to the sky. Here, on the edge of the forest, the trees were sparse. The sun was high and felt warm on his face. Pete started. Warmth on his face…

He heard the soft clip of centaur hooves walking on cold ground. Penelope appeared and stood by the river. "My lord," she nodded.

"No," said Pete. "None of this 'milord' malarkey. My name is 'Peter.' Call me that."

"I… cannot, my lord. It wouldn't be proper."

Pete snorted. "Nothing about this world is proper. How is any of this even possible? Can you tell me how it is that a wicked witch can put a spell on an entire country to make it winter forever—but I can still feel the sun?"

Penelope looked up. Surprised, she said, "The sun is warm…"

"Yeah," said Pete condescendingly. "It's… _the sun._ "

"You don't understand!" said the centauress. "I've _never_ felt warmth like this out of doors! Never in my lifetime! It's as if… the winter is ending, and… and… then comes…"

"Springtime," offered Pete. "The season after winter is called spring."

Penelope looked down sheepishly. "I knew that."

"It wasn't exactly on the tip of your tongue. Not that I can blame you. I mean, I'm from New York, and it gets pretty cold there, but I can't imagine winter for a lifetime."

"Generations of lifetimes," corrected Penelope. "And now, it's almost as if… just your being here in Narnia is starting to break the spell!"

"That's actually a hopeful thought," said Pete. He picked up a nearby canteen and raised it to Penelope in a toast. "Here's to future victories… and warmer weather."

* * *

They broke camp and marched with caution into the thick of the Western Woods. Spirits were high among the soldiers, because word had spread that the White Witch's curse was starting to break. It was still winter, to be sure; but now the cold wasn't so bitter. It didn't sting the face and numb the fingers like it used to. And the sun… the sun felt warm.

"So this is the same forest where you found me, Lumpkin?" asked Pete while they hiked.

"Yes, but this is a deeper, darker part of it," said the dwarf. "My home is in the north of the woods. But here… even animals avoid this area."

"I'd wondered why it was so quiet," commented Penelope.

"But what are the animals avoiding?" asked Pete.

"As to that, it must be the ruins of Silenopolis," answered Lumpkin. "Legends say the Old City is haunted."

Pete couldn't help laughing at that. "Haunted by what? Ghosts? Spooks? Bogeymen?" Grinning wickedly, he deepened his voice and affected a corny Transylvanian accent. "Flesh-eating zombies? The restless undead, eternally thirsting for the blood of the living?"

Lumpkin swallowed. "Something like that," he squeaked.

"You are a very strange person," said Penelope to Pete.

"Yeah, well at least I don't believe in spooks," said the human. "Not until I see them with my own eyes, anyway."

"Hmph. You should try having some faith."

"Lady, you got the wrong cop from the wrong town for that."

They walked on in silence for a while. Then, out of the blue, Pete said, "There was a lamppost."

"What?" asked Lumpkin.

"Right before you found me. It was the first thing I saw when I came to Narnia. I was in an old man's attic in Brooklyn, and I felt cold air coming from inside his wardrobe. I opened it, fell in, and there I was. In a snowy forest, standing next to a lit lamppost."

"You came to Narnia… through a _wardrobe_?" asked Penelope in disbelief.

Lumpkin, though, didn't question Pete. "I know the lamppost. It's not far from my home, after all. It's said to mark the western border of the land of Narnia. Beyond that point, the Western Woods become the Western Wilds, and then…"

"Then what?" asked Pete.

"Well, nobody knows. No one has ever gone into the Western Wilds and returned."

Pete looked down at the dwarf. "Do you think… maybe… if I were to find that lamppost again, I could find my way back home?"

Lumpkin shrugged. "Perhaps. Or, you could become lost in the wilds and wander aimlessly forever."

"Yeah, well, there's that too."

* * *

Cyrus held up his fist. It was a signal to the other soldiers: the scouts had spotted something. The company came to a halt. Nobody moved; nobody made a sound. Pete leaned over to Cyrus and asked, "What is it?"

"I don't know…" The centaur's eyes darted every which way, and he slowly drew his sabre. Penelope and Lumpkin unsheathed their blades as well.

"I really need to get myself a sword," whispered Pete.

Then they heard the creak of bowstrings being drawn taut; but it wasn't their archers. A figure stood up, appearing in the woods as if out of thin air, only a few feet in front of Pete and his officers. Then another appeared, and another. They wore cloaks of brown and deep forest green, and all had longbows at the ready, arrows aimed at Pete and the others. Through the brush and trees, yet another form emerged, but this one stepped boldly ahead and said, "You have entered satyr territory. Turn back now, or you will be shot." He took his hood off, revealing goatlike ears, a short beard, and tiny horns growing out the top of his head.

"They're fauns," said Lumpkin.

Pete stepped forward. "We're looking for the leader of the fauns," he announced.

"What for?"

"To propose an alliance."

The faun approached and looked Pete up and down. "And who are you, to propose an alliance with the fauns?"

"I'm Pete Pevensie. Who're you?"

"Marchwarden Phineas, captain of the Western Runners. But you didn't answer my question: what is Pete Pevensie, that he brings armed soldiers into our land?"

"Well, Warden, I'm the new sheriff in these here parts," drawled Pete. "And we were just on our way to Silenopolis, to rustle up some varmints. Seen any?"

Penelope cut in at this point, well-timed as always. "What Lord Peter means to say is: our purpose is rebellion! We fight to overthrow Queen Jadis. Will the fauns join our fight?"

The Marchwarden eyed Peter. "Does the horse-maid speak the truth? Are you mad enough to think that you can stand against the White Witch?"

"He is a Son of Adam," said Penelope. "He _will_ defeat the Witch."

The faun scoffed. " _This_ scrawny creature is a Son of Adam, a legendary human being? This… court-jester is the great war-captain who will lead us to victory?"

"I'm not a war-captain," said Pete.

"No, you certainly aren't," returned Phineas.

"But maybe you've noticed," said Pete with a twinkle in his eye, "that it's not as cold today as it was yesterday."

That gave Phineas pause. "Indeed… there is truth to that…"

"The Witch's spell begins to break," said Penelope. "The time is upon us! Now, if you will not join us, will you at least let us pass through to the Old City?"

Phineas looked out over the company of centaurs and said, "If it were up to me, you would have been dead before you'd ever set hoof in these woods. After all, we fauns never allowed ourselves to be bullied into the service of the Witch, just because she killed a few chieftains—"

Penelope drew her dagger and pointed it at Phineas. The fauns behind the Marchwarden all trained their bows on Penelope in the same instant, but Phineas signaled for them to hold their shots.

"Do not make light of our murdered ancestors!" hissed Penelope. "The centaurs' greatest elders and warriors lost their lives working against Jadis! We've been a leaderless people since the Witch took over, so don't blame us if we haven't been able to put up a better fight than you!"

Phineas looked the centauress in the eye. "At least we've kept trying."

"Hold it!" said Pete, stepping in between the two and putting his hands up to both of them. "Arguing and in-fighting… no wonder the Witch kicked your asses and took over Narnia! What is the matter with you people? You don't stand a snowball's chance in hell if you can't come together on this!"

Phineas gave another signal, and the other fauns lowered their bows. "Forgive my rudeness," he said, "and my suspicion. These are difficult times. But I believe you can be trusted, Peter Pevensie… although, you will have to prove yourself if you mean to earn the respect and allegiance of the fauns."

"I wouldn't ask for more than that," said Peter sincerely.

Phineas nodded. "I shall send Runners out to the other bands. Our elders must meet in council to discuss any alliances. In the meantime, I suggest you make camp here. I warn you, as a potential ally, that it would be wise to avoid the ruins of the Old City."

"Why?" asked Pete. "Who, or what, lives there now?"

"Nothing," said the faun. "That's the problem. It is a dead city, and the dead walk its broken streets and shattered halls. Or rather, they did until two nights ago. But now Silenopolis is emptied. The black lord of that cursed place rode out with a legion of ghoulish troops in the night. Whither they were bound, I could not say."

A chill that had nothing whatsoever to do with the winter fell upon the rebel company. Lumpkin elbowed Pete's leg. "Now do you believe in spooks?"


	7. Chapter 7

THE rebel company was forced to make camp in the Western Woods while they waited for word from the fauns' council of elders. Hours rolled into days, and Pete began to worry. Frustration grew within the camp. The centaur knights chafed at their seeming inaction, and Penelope was antsy enough for the lot of them. She constantly voiced her concern to Pete that every minute they spent waiting on the pleasure of the fauns was one more minute the Enemy had to act against them. Even Lumpkin was out of sorts, always with his face scrunched up in a pensive scowl, rarely speaking more than a word at a time to anybody. If Pete ever asked him what was wrong, the dwarf would merely waive all concerns with a few trite words and then go back to his brooding. Pete didn't know whether to be worried or suspicious.

On the evening of the third day since the Marchwarden had sent out his Runners, Pete stood alone in the woods. He was watching the water flow through a tiny rivulet that had formed in the center of a frozen creek. It had been doing this for two days now, thawing just enough to trickle along into the evening, only to freeze over again in the middle of the night. Pete shivered and hugged his cloak tighter. Off to one side of him, Phineas and the other fauns were gathered around a small campfire, the blaze barely visible through the trees. Elsewhere, the centaurs (and probably Lumpkin too) rested by a bonfire that shone brightly in the middle of a large clearing. Pete didn't feel like joining either group. He was, for all he knew, the only living human being in the world. That was a lonely and altogether depressing thought.

There wasn't much snow on the ground in this thick part of the woods, and it didn't take Pete very long to scrounge up some dry wood for kindling. Pete had never been a Boy Scout, and he'd never been the outdoorsy type: he was a life-long city-slicker, through and through. But he was also (and now he thanked his lucky star for it) a former smoker… nicotine-free these days, but he still kept his old lighter for a good-luck charm. That made short work of igniting a little campfire to call his own.

"Impressive," said a haughty voice behind Pete. "How exactly did you do that?"

Pete turned and saw Phineas watching him curiously. "Trade secret," smiled Pete. "It's… a human thing."

Phineas gave Pete an odd, indescribable look. "You're a very queer sort of being. Optimistic beyond all reason. You seem to believe that all of Narnia will rally to your side and unite under the banner of the Son of Adam."

"You don't think that can happen?"

"It is a fool's hope to hold," said the faun. "There is much of Narnian history that seems to elude you, Peter Pevensie. I hope that your ignorance doesn't prove your undoing."

"Then enlighten me!" said Pete. "Why do _you_ seem to think that everybody has to stand alone?"

Phineas said nothing, but he nodded in a direction off behind Pete. The human looked over his shoulder and saw Lumpkin and Penelope approaching.

"Another fire?" asked the centauress. "Tsk-tsk. I had thought that we were supposed to be keeping a… a… what did he call it, dwarf?"

"A 'low profile', my lady," said Lumpkin, "which is why all your fellow centaurs presently huddle about a single tiny flame—"

"Tiny?" scoffed Pete. "That three-alarm campfire back there is bigger than _you_ are! It's giving Smokey the Bear an aneurysm as we speak! You could roast Mr. Stay-Puft over that sucker!" When Pete was met with a round of blank stares, he hung his head and apologized. "Sorry. I'm trying to break the habit, but sometimes I just forget that I'm in Narnia now."

Penelope tucked her four legs beneath her body and sat on the cold ground, opposite Pete across the little fire. Lumpkin sat as well, and then Phineas followed suit. The centauress commented, "Your world must be a very different place, my lord. A strange place… but a wonderful one, to hear the way you speak of it."

"Ah, I guess it's not so special," said Pete, scratching his head. "I just miss it 'cause it's home, you know? Being among my own kind? That sort of thing."

"Was there anybody important that you left behind?" asked Phineas. "Family, perhaps?"

"A family?" echoed Pete. "Yeah, sure, I've got some family back home." With a fond chuckle, he then went on to tell his assembled listeners about his past life in New York: about his parents, who were both still alive but had moved upstate years ago; about his little sisters, Sue and Lu, both with jobs and fast-paced lives; Sue's husband and kids; and especially about Pete's "kid brother," Eddie. Pete and Eddie had always been close, but as Pete liked to tell it, Eddie was the one with brains—with "chutzpa." That was why Eddie had taken the bar and become a lawyer at the D.A.'s office, while Pete was just a "simple beat cop."

"…But man-oh-man, me and Eddie used to get into some kinda trouble when we were kids," laughed Pete, slapping his knee. "Like this one time? I must've been twelve, which means Eddie was maybe nine, and we snuck onto the D-Train and went to Coney Island—" But this story only caused Penelope and Lumpkin to interrupt with more questions, and so Pete was forced to launch into a lengthy explanation of what a subway was, and how it worked. Penelope could only listen, breathless, as Pete explained how humans had (so far as she was able to understand) tamed lightning itself to make it pull their carts for them, just as Narnians might do the same with a dumb horse or ox.

Pete was just getting to the good part of the story, where a deadly combination of footlong hotdogs, cotton candy, and amusement park rides had made Eddie barf _twice_ —when a green-cloaked faun stumbled into the clearing. It was one of Phineas's woodland Runners—and as he collapsed on the snowy ground, all present could see the stains of red and the black-shafted arrow sticking out of his back.

At once, everybody stood. Phineas and Pete and rushed forward knelt by the wounded faun. "What's happened?" demanded Phineas. "Who has done this?"

"The… the dead," gasped the faun. He sucked in a labored breath and rasped, "An army of the dead… they walk, this night! And they march… for here…" Then a series of hacking coughs wracked the faun's lungs.

"Shh," said Pete, "don't talk. Save your strength—"

But the Runner shook his head and grabbed hold of Pete's shirt-collar, pulling the human down close. Pete was forced to look into the faun's eyes, and they were glassy and haunted. "The Elders," said the faun. "All dead… attacked by the dead… fauns are scattered. Run. Run away." And then that faun breathed his last.

Pete slowly stood and looked at each of his companions in turn. Lumpkin was openly frightened. Penelope was trying to put on a brave face, but she had gone pale, making her look uncharacteristically sickly in the flickering firelight. Phineas's face had gone hard. "It seems we face a dire choice," said the Marchwarden grimly. "The Enemy is almost upon us. We must decide whether to fight or flee." But he made it clear from the tone of his voice that he did not consider flight a worthy option.

"Penelope," said Pete evenly, "order the knights to douse the fire and gather their things. We're leaving. Immediately."

The centauress nodded and moved to carry out Pete's orders. Phineas, though, wouldn't have it. "If we run from them now, they'll only overtake us when we're too tired to fight—and the dead do _not_ weary! We simply cannot—"

But Pete cut him off. "I'll tell you what we can't do! We can't face an enemy we know nothing about, not under these conditions! How many are there? What, exactly, are they? Can they see in the dark? Because we sure can't! Are they good at fighting in a forest? Centaurs aren't—and they're more than half our troops! They need an open battlefield, or else we don't stand a chance! Now maybe if you had some talented battle commander to work out a strategy, we could do something, but at the moment, you've only got me. And I say we have to get the hell out of Dodge!"

Lumpkin, meanwhile, had already put out Pete's campfire and packed his few belongings. "Sir Peter speaks nothing but the truth, distasteful though it may be," he offered. "I really do suggest you follow his instructions, Marchwarden… unless you want more faun blood to be spilled needlessly this night."

Phineas just looked sourly at Pete. "I thought you didn't believe in 'spooks'."

Pete tilted his head towards the body of the dead Runner. "Yeah, well, that arrow didn't come from Casper the Friendly Ghost. Now pick it up, Finny—we need to get a move-on."

The faun gave a glum nod and said, "Very well. I'll pass the word to my foresters that we must retreat. We should move south, make for the river. But, Lord Peter, I have one important condition if you wish to keep my loyalty and my service."

"What's that?"

"Never, ever call me 'Finny'. Ever again. Or I might just have to kill you, Son of Adam or no."

* * *

Hour after tense hour dragged slowly by in the Western Woods. The company had rested long enough in faun territory that fatigue wasn't an issue—yet. But whether or not the warriors were eager to see action, they were all wide awake and on high alert, marching warily through the chill night. Twice-frozen snow crunched underfoot, but apart from that, everything was dead silent. Oftentimes the slightest noise would bring the whole troupe to a halt, what with the sharp-eared fauns scouting the way and taking all caution; but Pete wanted to keep everybody moving, and so they would resume their quickstep march just as soon as the scouts signaled the "all-clear."

It was well into the early morning when Phineas ran to the head of the column, where Pete, Penelope, and Lumpkin—perched astride Lt. Cyrus, so as not to slow the company down—led the march. Phineas said, "Sir Peter, I fear the Enemy gains upon us."

"What makes you say that?"

"One of the rear scouts hasn't checked back with me. It's been close to half an hour now, and still she hasn't returned."

"I don't suppose she could've gotten lost in the woods?" Pete asked. The look he got from Phineas told him exactly how stupid that question was. "Okay, guess not. Killed or captured, then?"

"My guess as well. Which means that our foes draw near."

The faun's pronouncement proved to be well-timed and prophetic, for in that moment, the scouts once again warbled a signal of possible danger. This was no mere false alarm, though. On all sides, the bushes and low branches began to rustle violently, as if a pack of large animals were running breakneck circles around the company, keeping just out of sight. Then, all at once, the movement stopped.

The soldiers, too, came to an immediate halt. "What in the hell was that?" whispered Pete.

"I… don't know," said Phineas, and he sounded genuinely surprised by the fact.

The centaur knights and faun rangers drew in close, forming a tight circle. The centaurs had sabres at the ready (since lances were next to useless in woods this dense), and Pete stood sandwiched between Penelope and Cyrus with his .38 drawn. Then, with an unceremonious shove from Penelope's ponyish flank, Pete found himself pushed behind the line of knights. At the same time, Cyrus bucked Lumpkin, causing the dwarf to land next to Pete with a grunt.

"I never!" grumbled Lumpkin. "What rudeness—" but he was promptly "shh'd" by Pete. All around, the night was still… still as the grave.

Then, somewhere behind the company, a couple of dark shapes dashed by. Pete couldn't see them very clearly from inside the safety of the circle, but he caught the glint of yellow eyes and heard their guttural snarl—and they definitely ran on all fours. _Wolves!_ was Pete's immediate thought.

The fauns and centaurs cast about in all directions, hoping to spot any sign of the wild animals. If they were surrounded, the beasts could attack from any side, or all of them at once… "There!" shouted Cyrus, pointing his sword high. "Behind us, up in the trees!" Those words would prove to be the brave lieutenant's last. At once, four or five agile forms—now they were moving more like apes than wolves—bounded down from the branches and landed in the middle of the circle of soldiers. The creatures never seemed to touch the ground for more than a fleeting moment. They just leapt clear over the heads of Pete and Lumpkin and careened headlong into Cyrus. Before Pete could even tell what was happening, manifold clawing hands grasped at the centaur and carried him bodily off into the forest. Dead silence rang in the night for a few terrifying heartbeats, only to be broken by the lieutenant's tortured screams. Then, as if to make his fate clear to everybody, a grotesque spray of red fluid shot out into the clearing, staining the snow dark in the shadow-broken moonlight.

Pete was incensed. He was too enraged to even remember that he ought to be horrified. He was only vaguely aware of Penelope screaming Cyrus's name and Lumpkin urging immediate retreat. Pete only said to Phineas, through gritted teeth, "How far to the river?"

"Not far," said the faun, a slight quaver in his voice. "We've almost made the old garrison at the ford."

Now those _creatures_ came stalking out of the woods again: openly, deliberately, and in greater numbers. Some stood upright and others moved on all fours, but they all crept with the deadly grace of predators. They all had the same sunken yellow eyes, and skin of sickly purple that made them look as if they were covered head to toe in bruises. It was hard to make out more detail than that in the wan moonlight, but Pete was sure of one thing—these ghoulish monsters were shaped like human beings. Like human corpses.

"Right," said Pete with a little too much calm. He hoped that his voice wouldn't be lost to the terror he was feeling now. "On my word… _**RUN! Run south, and make for the ford!**_ " With a yell, Pete tore ahead at his best running speed, Phineas hot on his heels. Penelope turned to scoop up Lumpkin, depositing the dwarf roughly on her back. The rest of the company broke ranks and followed—and not a blasted minute too soon, either, because black-feathered arrows started coming down like hailstones. A handful of knights and rangers were struck down by that first volley of shafts, never again to walk among the living.

Pete spared a glance over his shoulder, but he quickly came to wish that he hadn't. Their sudden charge past the stalking ghouls had left the creatures confused, but not for long. Now those things were bounding after the fleeing troupe like a pack of wild dogs, though some brachiated like gorillas, while a few had paused to gnaw upon the bodies of the arrow-felled soldiers. Pete shuddered and suppressed the urge to puke. Facing forward, he tried instead to focus on not running headlong into a tree-trunk.

Then, all of the sudden, the trees were gone, and Pete almost felt the ground give way underneath his feet. They had broken out of the thickest part of the woods and come into a great clearing, a valley that sloped steeply down to a winding river, of course frozen. Pete looked up and saw the sky—a full moon and stars. And after spending days on end living underneath a canopy of trees, the open space made the human feel agoraphobic and vulnerable. Behind him, Phineas and Penelope dashed out from the tree-line and down the slope, followed closely by the rest of their soldiers. Up ahead, at a bend in the river, Pete saw several stone structures on the near bank. The old garrison… their only hope for cover, and the only place to turn and make their stand.


	8. Chapter 8

FOR reasons unknown, the ghouls quit their chase at the tree-line and refused to leave the cover of the woods. The valley was completely clear of trees, leaving the rebel army wide out in the open as they came to a halt at the foot of the slope and turned to face their pursuers. "Now what could they be waiting for?" asked Lumpkin. "Why don't the beasts attack while they've still got the high ground?"

"Maybe it's some kind of trap," said Pete darkly. "Phineas, is there any chance that those ruins up ahead are haunted, like you guys's old city?"

"None whatsoever," said the faun with certainty. "These twice-damned spirits have never in living memory wandered so far from Silenopolis and the halls of their ancient conquest. I don't know what force compels them to do so now, but I _do_ know that the ruined outpost should be safe enough, at least for the time being. If something foul does lurk there, it would be wholly unknown to my people… and that is not likely."

"That still doesn't explain what the rotten beasts are waiting for," said Penelope coldly. "They certainly murdered Cyrus without such hesitation."

Pete looked at Penelope and saw that she was gazing up the hillside at the waiting undead with vengeance in her eyes. The ghouls were stalking along the tree-line, but still they advanced no further than that. "Hey!" said Pete, snapping his fingers at the centauress. "Earth to Penny!"

Penelope trained an evil glare on the human.

"Uh… I mean, Narnia to… um, never mind." Pete fumbled for the right words before he finally said to her, "Look, you'll get a crack those creepshow rejects soon enough. They're probably just regrouping, or waiting for their archers to catch up, or whatever. We need to take some cover and case out our new position, like, five minutes ago. What do you say, Captain?"

Wordlessly, the centaur-woman nodded and pranced toward the stone ruins. Pete chased after her, but the others followed behind with a little more caution.

* * *

The rebels entered the ruined outpost neither slowly nor recklessly. Time might be against them, but neither would it pay to stumble into unexpected peril. From the outside, it could be seen that high stone walls once surrounded this place, long ago, but they had been breached or all but destroyed in so many places that standing sections of wall were sparse. In places, the fortifications had been razed so low that not a single brick peeked out from beneath the blanket of snow. Between the rubble and the snowdrifts, these areas would make difficult terrain for the centaur knights, but beyond the walls, the garrison's courtyard seemed open enough for charging maneuvers. When the rebel soldiers took possession of this place, they looked around and saw that a number of low buildings stood along the inside of the wall, more of them clustered by the riverbank on far side of the outpost. Most of these buildings were half-way caved in, and some were utterly collapsed, but a few were still intact. The largest of these was the garrison's keep, which still stood about a storey taller than the highest section of wall. All around that sturdy fortification, fallen columns and the demolished base of a sentry tower formed a layer of debris that gave the place an ancient and forbidding appearance.

"Okay, Captain," said Pete. "Take a couple of knights and check out that big fort, but watch yourselves. The rest of the cavalry, you're with me." Penelope nodded her assent and trotted off with a pair of male centaurs, while Pete continued, turning to the company's centauress archers. "Ladies, you're working with Phineas. I want all of our archers, centaur and faun, positioned behind those two chunks of wall by the gatehouse. Shoot when the Marchwarden gives the order, but remember, these things are already dead, so arrows will probably only slow them down."

"Are you certain of that, Sir Peter?" asked Lumpkin.

"Nope," said Pete quietly to the dwarf, "but if horror movies have taught us anything, you have to shoot a ghoul in the brain, stake a vampire through the heart, or chop a zombie into tiny little pieces before they finally give it up. And don't even get me started on Jason and Freddy."

The dwarf just muttered "bah!" and drew his dagger.

In that moment, Pete realized that he wasn't very well armed. All he had was his little revolver, with three bullets left. Granted, that was the only weapon he actually knew the first thing about using, but still, there was no guarantee that bullets would work any better on these critters than arrows. "One more thing," he said, now addressing the centaur knights. "…I think I need to borrow a sword."

* * *

There emerged from the thick of the woods another sort of undead soldier. These had pallid gray skin but none of the animalistic agility of the ghouls. They came shambling awkwardly out from the forest and down the hillside, their arms held out straight in front of themselves like victims of some mass hypnotic trance. In the dusk of the early morning, Pete could just make out that these undead, like the ghouls, carried no weapons and wore little more than scraps of cloth.

"What in the world are those?" mused Lumpkin.

"Zombies, if I had to take a guess," said Pete. "Huh." Maybe he should have been scared stiff, but by this point, the bare fact of zombies creeping out of the woods was almost… expected.

Then, behind that shambling corps of corpses, there appeared yet another company of the dead, and these answered the riddle of who'd been raining arrows on the rebels: skeletons, clad in the tattered remnants of rusty mail, and each carrying a long yew bow and quiver full of black-feathered barbs. Just as ungainly as the zombies, the skeletal archers fell into a mechanical lockstep and tramped down into the valley. Behind them, the ghouls finally emerged from the woods, and they circled off to the east like a wild wolf-pack that had just scented easy prey.

All in all, the rebel forces seemed to be outnumbered at least three to one. At least these ruins were kind of defensible, Pete thought. The human heard the clip-clop of centaur hooves coming over the frosty ground behind him. "Well, Captain?" he said without looking back. "What do you think about the fort?"

"It's empty, my lord, and we might be able to defend it from within…" said Penelope.

"But?"

"It is a dead-end," she said frankly. "If we try to make our stand there, we shall be trapped and slaughtered to the last soldier."

Pete nodded and casually fingered the hilt of the sabre that he'd been loaned by one of the other knights. _He_ had led these people into this situation, and now, one way or another, they were about to pay the price for the decisions he'd been forced to make. Some had already paid the ultimate price. Pete swallowed. "We'll fight outside then. You're in the courtyard with the rest of the knights."

Penelope nodded. "Ay, my lord. It's… it was nice, you know. To have hope. If only for a little while."

"Save it," grumped Pete. "Save it for _after_ we get out of this mess."

Penelope said nothing to that, but she went to take her place at the front of the line of centaurs. There she stood, twin sabres drawn, and the rest of the knights lowered their lances.

"Phineas!" shouted Pete. "You saw those ghouls trying to sneak off to the east?"

"Ay, Sir Peter!" returned the faun from his post up near the remains of the gatehouse. The Marchwarden gave a signal, and the female centaurs standing at the easternmost section of standing wall all trained their longbows in that direction. The fauns aimed their own missiles uphill at the column of zombies and skeletons slowly advancing from the north.

About half-way down the slope, the skeletons came to a halt and nocked arrows to their bowstrings. _This is it,_ thought Pete, feeling the heft of the borrowed sabre as he raised it up in two hands. "Give the order, Marchwarden!"

Phineas also drew his bow and sighted in a target. " **Loose at will!** " shouted the faun, and at once a steady stream of twangs and whistles accompanied the flights of the Runners' shafts. The low ground put them at a real disadvantage, though, because most of the arrows never flew as far as the line of skeletal archers. If the missiles found their marks at all, they simply stuck in the limbs and bodies of the zombies; and while one of them might stumble or fall back occasionally, most of the undead just ignored the arrows sticking out of their limbs and torsos and heads, and they kept on marching down the hill.

The skeletons returned fire now, raining a deadly volley on the fauns' position. From behind the section of wall, the fauns were mostly protected; only one was struck, and that proved to be a mere flesh wound. When it became clear that they wouldn't do much good where they were, Phineas called the order to fall back. "Back to the yard!" The fauns, a pair of them helping their wounded comrade, went to take deeper cover. The centauress archers held their position at the other wall, but they were waiting for the flanking force of ghouls to appear.

Set and ready in the garrison-town's open center, the knights waited for their foes to reach the level ground. Reach it they did, showing neither fear nor emotion—the zombies were mindless puppets, marching to the slaughter-grounds. Penelope held her tandem blades aloft. The gray sky, visible overhead through the great gap in the trees above the valley, was entirely clear and still. "Company!" shouted the captain. " **Charge!** " Lances leveled, hooves thundered, and the centaurs galloped forward. All too soon, they crashed into the advancing line of undead. At the same time, the skeletons loosed again, raining arrows down upon the mêlée—arrows which did practically no damage to the zombies, but which prematurely ended the charges and the lives of two more centaurs.

Pete and Lumpkin ran behind the knights, but the dwarf wasn't particularly fast—and neither was the human, whose past injuries still weren't entirely mended. They both breathed a little easier when they saw Penelope rear up and charge again—she wasn't among the wounded. Indeed, she continued to fight valiantly, chopping away with her two blades and trampling foes under her hooves, while the rest of the knights ran down some dozens of zombies more. The undead fought back with their bare fists, which meant about as much to the centaurs as arrows did to the zombies.

Right away, Pete realized that these corpse-soldiers were little more than fodder, something to keep the knights busy while skeletons picked them off a few at a time from a safe distance. Pete skidded to a stop and shouted, "Back! Fall back, get away from the archers!" Up ahead, Penelope heard the order and relayed it to the knights. She raised one of her swords in salute to Pete, and the centaurs started to pull away from the slow-moving zombies.

To Lumpkin, Pete said, "Go find Phineas. Tell him to put his men on the riverbank and watch out for those ghouls!"

"At once, Sir Peter," said the dwarf. He saluted by touching his knife to his forehead and then went off to find the fauns.

Peter then ran to where the squad of centauresses was positioned. Their bows were longer than those carried by the faun Runners. "Shoot the skeletons!" he instructed. The archers did as commanded and aimed at the bony foes which now marched down the hill behind the zombies. Arrows flew into the skeletal ranks, but most only became tangled in their empty rib-cages. "Aim for the skulls," said Pete. "Try to knock their blocks off!"

Then the human turned and ran again—he'd had no idea that directing a battle could involve so much running about!—and he caught up to Penelope and rest of the returning knights.

"We can make our next stand at those buildings by the riverside!" said Penelope. "Draw them into ambushes!"

"Lead the way, Captain!" said Pete.

Behind them, the zombies marched past the gatehouse and into the garrison yard. Several fauns darted in and out of the alcoves and alleyways between buildings, occasionally firing arrows at zombies' legs and then disappearing out of sight again, all the while slowly working their way back to the river. Phineas appeared with two arrows nocked, fired both at once, and tripped up a zombie which had come within a few yards of Pete. He winked at Pete and Penelope and then followed his men to the east.

Pete stumbled around the corner of another broken piece of wall and nearly ran into Lumpkin. "Mission accomplished," gasped the dwarf breathlessly. "Phineas will watch our flanks."

"Right," said Pete. The situation was rapidly devolving into a kind of chaos that he just couldn't wrap his head around. Neither did it help that the initial adrenaline rush was wearing off, and all the exertion was starting to make Pete's cracked ribs ache like the dickens.

Penelope's knights came galloping around the wall and formed ranks. "The dead are inside the garrison," said one of the centaurs. "The skeletons are among them. Our archers withdrew and joined up with the fauns."

"Then we fight them in close, building to building, and draw them towards the keep," ordered Penelope, "but if they press us that far, don't go inside."

"If that happens, cross the river," said Pete. "At that point, we'll be in full retreat."

Penelope saw that Pete was gripping his sides. The human looked more pained than tired. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," said Pete. "It's no—"

"Captain! The enemy!" cried a knight. At his warning, the zombies appeared in view, stalking around the side of a collapsed barracks-house.

"Hit 'em and run!" shouted Pete, and that became the company's motto as they were slowly but surely driven deeper into the ruins.

* * *

The knights met up with the centauress and faun archers just outside the gates of the keep. The archers had been running a fighting retreat from the sudden and ferocious attack of the ghouls, peppering them with arrows while they fled. The ghouls seemed more vulnerable than the zombies: when they were wounded, they actually fell. But the rest of the pack would just leap over the fallen and continue the chase like the ravaging beasts they were.

Now reunited, the whole rebel army drew together in front of the keep as a loose band of fauns and centaurs (and one man and one dwarf). They were tired, they were wounded, and they were surrounded. Ghouls, zombies, and skeletons all formed tight ranks and closed in on three sides. And then a voice rose above it all—a chilling, unfeeling hiss of a voice—and it said, "Hold, my children. A moment, before we dessstroy them!"

The rebels looked around in confusion, wondering whence came the voice which had momentarily halted their foes. Then the ranks of the dead reverently parted, and a dark rider appeared: a black-cloaked figure astride a hellish phantom of a steed. The horse, if it could be called that, was black and scaly, with eyes like tiny glowing pin-points of red. The figure in black looked like the very avatar of death. The voice came from beneath his iron helm. He demanded, "Ssstep forward, Ssson of Adam."

Lumpkin, Penelope, Phineas, and others all stood in front of Pete, but the human waved them aside. He limped to the front of the company and said, "Who are you?"

A rapid hissing sound came from the rider, and Pete realized that it was laughter. "Ss-ss-ss-ss-ss. Sssuch presumption, to make demandsss in his position." Here the black knight doffed his helm, and Pete saw a face—pale white, with a black beard, and glassy eyes—clearly dead, but also clearly _human_. The fiend smiled, and Pete saw a pair of fangs. "I am called… Count Ssserpensss."

"Count… Serpens?" repeated Pete in disbelief. " _That's_ your big scary villain name? Why didn't you just call yourself Count Dracula, or Baron von Doom? I could come up with something better than that in five minutes."

The undead rider frowned and said, "And you, _human_? I wish to know the name of the insolent wretch whose lassst wordsss were an infantile jessst."

"The name's Pete Pevensie. And I haven't picked any last words yet." From behind his back, Pete suddenly pulled his gun. The Count quirked an eyebrow in confusion and surprise, and Pete grinned as he took aim and squeezed the trigger. The pistol let out a report… but the Count remained motionless. His horse hadn't even shied from the noise. Now it was the Count's turn to smile. Bewildered, Pete aimed again and fired off his last two bullets. It wasn't even like they struck the demon ineffectually… there was simply no wound, no bullet hole, as if they were _passing through_ his otherwise solid form.

The Count let out his rasping, hissing laugh. "Mortal weapons cannot harm me! A valiant effort, to be sssure, _human_. But you fail, and now you _die_!" The Count raised a gauntlet-covered hand, and the ranks of the undead, which had been kept at bay until now, prepared to throw themselves upon the rebels.

"Wait!" said Pete. "There's one more thing!"

"What?" snapped Serpens impatiently.

"You're a _vampire_ , right? Sucking the blood of the living, not too fond of sunlight… and your troops here, all undead? Children of the night and all that jazz?"

The Count just fixed Pete with a blank stare.

"Because, I've got to tell you, man… sunrise was, like, an hour ago. Maybe you've been hiding in the darkest part of the forest for a thousand years, but this place, where we are now? It's a great big clearing. And it's gonna get real bright, right… about… now."

Count Serpens paused to look up at the sky, and indeed, the gray of dusk had given way to the orange of dawn. Narrow beams of light began to shine their way through the tree trunks. The sun had indeed been creeping above the horizon all throughout the battle, and in mere moments the light of day would flood the valley and the ruins. The vampire gave an angry roar and spurred his steed, charging at the soldiers. Pete dove aside and the rebels cleared the way. Count Serpens disappeared into the shadows of the old keep. Similarly compelled to retreat from the dawn, the whole mass of undead creatures surged toward the fortress gate, and the rebel soldiers stood aside to let them go.

Lumpkin walked over to Pete with an ecstatic grin on his face. "We won. We won! Sir Peter… _Lord_ Peter, you were positively _magnificent_!"

Pete let out a heavy breath. He was pale as a sheet. He really looked like he'd just been scared stupid. "We were lucky," said Pete. "I had no idea what I was talking about."

Phineas approached and put a hand on Pete's shoulder. "There are worse things to have on one's side than luck."

Penelope gazed into the darkness after their enemy. "We should go in there. Destroy them while we can."

Phineas shook his head. "If you go in there before sundown, you won't find anything to fight. According to legend, the undead are evil spirits; during the day, they have no physical substance."

Pete gave the word, and Penelope led a troupe of knights into the keep. As Phineas predicted, all was empty—neither sight nor sign of any creature. She returned and related this strange fact to the others.

"That's it," said Pete. "It's over. Time to count our blessings and get the hell out of this God-damned place."


	9. Chapter 9

THE rebel company emerged from the Western Woods at a ponderous pace, burdened by many wounded and teetering on the very edge of exhaustion. On Captain Penelope's advice, Pete kept the march slow and restful, because it simply wouldn't do to push the demoralized and overtired soldiers, not under their present circumstances. Furthermore, the winter was yet bitter, and a spent army was in far greater danger than a hale one of succumbing to the effects of exposure. But a far greater danger, all knew, lurked behind them in the woods: that the vile Count Serpens and his Army of the Dead might venture forth from their dark lair once nightfall inevitably came. Pete and the rebels had no hope of concealing their trail over the snowy plain; so if the enemy wished to track them, they would be able to do this without difficulty. And if they were overtaken on this upcoming night, wearied as they were, they would be obliterated to the last. The rebels' only chance at survival, Pete knew, was therefore to keep moving over the open plains and count on the lack of cover from the sun to dissuade their undead pursuers. On the plains, the dead could only follow them during the night. Even though they risked been seen by other servants of Jadis, it was their one chance at escape—their only hope.

That evening, the fatigued and nerve-wracked company pressed onward, stopping only briefly for rest and food. While they paused, one of the centaurs with more severe wounds—he had been both arrow-pierced and ghoul-rent—passed away from the cold and a sudden onset of fever. The fauns had some modest skill at healing, as might be expected of a people of foresters all, but that availed them little in such straits as these. Before the rebels moved on, Penelope insisted that they burn the body on a pyre, even though there was no time to spare for a proper funeral. Phineas warned that a bonfire out on the open wold would make their position visible for miles and leave a telltale sign for anybody of a mind to track them. Lumpkin disapproved as well, saying, "Often in times of war must the dead wait on the living. What of those that lately perished at the battle in the Western Woods? They shan't be mourned until our task is all but finished and their lives are thus avenged!"

Pete shook his head at both of them. "No, the captain is right. This has to be done now. A fire won't make our position any worse than the trail we left in the snow, and we definitely need to do something to honor the fallen. Maybe we can't have a service for everybody, but I have to do _something_ to remember them, because I'm the reason they all died!"

"No, you are not!" growled Lumpkin suddenly. "The coming of a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve was foretold long ago, by Aslan himself, or so they say! Whether it were you or another, a human would be in Narnia now to fulfill that prophecy; and all true Narnians would fight for his cause—fight and die if need be—because his cause is their cause, their hope for freedom! So dispel such foolish thoughts of guilt, Lord Peter, and if still you find that somebody must bear the blame, save the hatred in your heart for the frozen bitch-queen Jadis and all her foul brood. To flatter yourself with blame only dishonors the slain—and absolves their slayers!" That said, Lumpkin spoke no more, but he put the hood of his cloak up over his head, low enough to hide his face, and he went off to be alone, for this was how dwarves mourned fallen comrades.

Penelope looked gratefully at Pete and mouthed a silent "thank you." Then, after shooting Phineas an evil glare, she went to help her knights prepare a pyre.

* * *

As luck would have it, the next couple of days came and went with no signs of pursuit by their horrible foe. The company had finally been able to make a proper camp and take some much-needed rest, and now they marched southeasterly at a more comfortable pace. "The village of Pyskis must be our next destination," Penelope had advised, "for the sprites have no love for the White Witch, and rumor has it that their magic has kept them hidden and out of her power all these long centuries."

For a week they marched ever southward, and ever did the dark of the Western Woods shrink into the distance—but as long as that dreadful shadow loomed within sight behind them, so did the fear of that place whisper in the soldiers' hearts. Then, at last, the forest dwindled out of sight altogether, and the country they traveled through grew rugged and rocky. Though the way was harder now, the hearts of many were gladdened to be free from the view of the ill-favored wood. Indeed, none among the company were more cheered than Lumpkin, who explained that even though he had long made his home in the tamer, northern parts of the Western Wood, he was nevertheless a dwarf—and a dwarf was only truly happy among rocks and mountains. These rocky foothills were a sign that the Red Mountains drew nigh, though they still lay many more leagues to the southeast.

"What do you know about the Red Mountains?" Pete asked Lumpkin. "Have you ever been there?"

But to that question, the dwarf would give no answer beyond a doleful sigh.

Onward they pressed, until the land began to slope downward once again, and the softer soil here allowed silver-barked saplings to rise from the ground, though still leafless and hibernating through the forever-winter. "I deem we approach the River Telmar," said Phineas, "and Pyskis Village rests upon the near bank. The sprites are slow to trust, and very often they will only have dealings with nymphs and fauns. It is probably best if I do the talking. No offense to friend Lumpkin and good Captain Penelope, of course."

"Of course," said Lumpkin with a chuckle.

Penelope looked as if she were about to offer a less gracious comment, but Pete put a staying hand on her arm. He said, "Anything else we need to know, Marchwarden?"

"Yes. You, Lord Peter, must tie a scarf about your head, so as to hide the roundness of your ears."

"My ears?"

"If you are lucky," explained the faun, "the sprites will take you for an elf, and you will be treated distantly, but with courtesy."

Pete swallowed. "And… if I'm not so lucky?"

"Then they will think that you are witch-kind, and they will not be so courteous."

"Well… crap." Pete shoved his hands into his pockets, but then he felt a gentle tap on his arm.

Penelope had reached back and torn a green sash of cloth off of her barding. "Here," she said, offering the ribbon to Pete.

"Thanks," said the human, tying it around his head. If this didn't work… well, at least Phineas had offered to do the talking.

The company followed a path that wound between a jagged outcrop and a cairn of boulders. Up another hill they trudged, and when Phineas reached the peak, he stopped. Soon, Pete and Penelope crested the hill, and then so did Lumpkin—and the dwarf let out a gasp of shock and dismay. There, down in the basin of the valley, a tiny village was nestled by the riverbank—a village of blackened and burned-out husks, mere shells where huts and houses once stood. All was surrounded by a field of black spikes jutting up from the ground—the charcoal remains of a grove of silver trees.

Pete was suddenly struck by this grim sight with a memory, a quotation that he had heard once, and now he gave it voice: "'Our list of allies grows thin.'"

* * *

While the rebel army camped on the hilltop, Pete took Lumpkin, Penelope, and Phineas down to the ruins of the sprite-village. Except for Lumpkin, they all stood taller than the tallest of these houses ever had—but that didn't shrink the anger that Pete felt welling up inside of him, having at last witnessed the cruelty of Jadis first-hand.

Lumpkin came up to Pete with a puzzled expression. "Well, my lord, I have peered into many of these houses, but I have seen no bodies. Not one blackened bone remains to help tell the tale of what happened here!"

"It's quite obvious what happened," scoffed Penelope. "The White Witch! She must have tired of the sprites' defiance… and ended it."

"Or," said Pete, "she knows that I'm here, and she didn't want the sprites making friends with us."

That thought threw everybody into an uncomfortable and ominous silence. Then, Phineas's ears began to twitch, and the faun looked to the riverside.

"What is it?" asked Pete. "Do you hear something?"

"Yes," said Phineas, taking on a queer and curious look. "Weeping. I hear somebody weeping."

* * *

They found her kneeling by a dozen or so tiny mounds of freshly-dug earth, a spade lying nearby and her fingers caked with the cold dirt. Her blackened hands covered her face, and the tears ran down her fingers in brown streaks. Her hair was long and snow-white, but the garb she wore was of a soft green—a gauzy dress, too sheer to offer any protection from winter's cold. She didn't seem bothered by the temperature.

Phineas raised an arm to hold Pete and the others back. "She is a nymph," he said by way of explanation—yet there was wonder in his voice.

As for the nymph, as soon as she heard the faun's words and saw the four companions approaching, she leapt to her feet and brandished the spade like a spear. "Who are you?" she spat. Pointing the makeshift weapon at Pete, she added, "And what is _that_?"

Phineas put up his hands. "Be calm. We are not the enemy. We only wish to know what happened to Pyskis Village—when it was destroyed, and by whom."

"And him?" repeated the nymph.

But Pete was already removing the scarf from his head. "My name is Pete Pevensie. I'm human… or rather, what you call a 'Son of Adam.'"

The white-haired girl stared at Pete, pure awe painted on her face. Phineas retook her attention by saying, "The village, nymph! What happened? Speak quickly!"

"My name," she replied coldly, "is Cynthia. Not 'nymph.' And as for Pyskis, it was attacked but two days ago, by a regiment of gremlins. All were slain." She indicated the fresh graves with the point of her spade. "These… were all that I could find. Some of them were my friends… sprites that I had known since…" Cynthia choked back a sob and wiped her cheek with a grimy hand.

Pete leaned close to Penelope. "Gremlins?"

"Wicked fairies," whispered the centaur. "They carry a charm of ill luck. It must have been strong enough to counter the magic of the sprites. Gremlins love spreading misfortune, and needless to say, they willingly serve the Witch."

Pete shook his head and groaned. "Great. William Shatner's _Twilight Zone_ nightmare, and we've got to deal with a whole freaking regiment."

"Whence did the gremlins come?" asked Lumpkin. "And whither did they go after the slaughter?" The dwarf's voice held an edge as he spoke—not one jot of compassion did he carry on his tongue.

Cynthia sniffled and looked up at the dwarf. Her quavering words were thus: "They came from the west. From the barrens. There was—there was no warning. I wasn't here. I only heard the attack. Heard the battle. I came running—but it was too late. They were gone. Back to the west, into the wastelands, I think."

Penelope listened to this speech with some suspicion, but her aloofness was countered by the steely anger in the eyes of Pete, Lumpkin, and Phineas. She could tell that they all had vengeance on their minds. "There is nothing more we can do here," she said. "Pyskis is gone. Our mission has failed. We must move on."

"What?" Pete turned his gaze on the centaur. "We can't just—"

"We cannot go running off after every tragedy and every wretched foe! We are still too few to risk open war, and we _cannot_ defeat a concerted force of gremlin fairies!" Penelope drew a long-suffering sigh and looked understandingly at her three comrades. "I know what you think you must do. I want the same. But we would fail. We need allies."

Phineas, meanwhile, had taken his canteen and was helping Cynthia wash off some of the dirt. The distraught nymph murmured a quiet "thank you" to the faun and tried to regain some of her composure. "Wherever you go," she said, "please, take me with you. There's nothing here for me now. My home, my friends… they're all gone."

Phineas looked about and saw the charred remains of the grove that surrounded the village. "These trees… they were in your care?"

Cynthia nodded and gazed after them. "For all this long winter. And they were murdered as they slept. At least… at least they died more peacefully than the sprites."

Phineas turned to the others and said, "Our road must now take us far to the south. To Archenland."

"Archenland?" echoed Pete, looking at each of his friends in turn. "What's that?"

"It lies beyond the Red Mountains," said Penelope. "It is the elf kingdom."

Pete nodded, but he still wasn't sure what to make of that. "Elves? Okay. Are those elves, as in, 'Legolas killed more orcs than Gimli?' Or are they the 'Keebler cookies and Santa Claus' variety?"

Penelope leaned in close to Pete's face and pronounced, "You are a very odd little man."

"You're right," said Pete, meeting her gaze with a brazen smirk. "There's no such thing as Santa Claus. Whatever was I thinking?"

The centaur just "hmphed" and trotted away. Phineas shook his head at Pete and followed her back to the camp. Cynthia stared at the human and asked, "What's a… 'Santa Claws?'"

Pete said, "You know: Saint Nick. Father Christmas."

" _Oh,_ " said Cynthia, "Father Christmas! Of course. But, why would you say that there's no such thing? Of course there's a Father Christmas!"

Pete only shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "Never mind. Come on, let's go introduce you to the troops."

That left Lumpkin standing alone by the riverbank. The dwarf turned and gazed upriver, for he knew that this flow, the Telmar River, originated in the distant peaks of the Red Mountains. They were the ancestral home of his people, the Red Dwarves… and he shuddered to think of returning to that place.


	10. Chapter 10

THE long march carried Pete and his friends even farther to the south and east. For another week and more did they travel, now with a range of rust-red mountain peaks rising in the distance ahead. Since the army had crossed the River Telmar, they had been neither halted nor delayed by any hostile incident, and in this, all judged that they had been fortunate indeed. As the Red Mountains loomed ever nearer, Lumpkin grew more and more somber and despondent—but Pete never remarked on it, because he was altogether taken with their newest traveling companion.

Despite the horror so lately witnessed by the lovely nymph, she recovered quickly in the company of the rebels. Every male in the group, from Lumpkin to the last centaur knight, seemed under a charm—as if Cynthia's mere presence were a magic spell. They were enthralled by her beautiful, elfin face; by her merrily infectious laugh; and also by her spirited will to join the fight. At one point, she borrowed a longbow from one of the centauresses in Penelope's retinue, and she squared off against Phineas in a friendly archery competition. All were impressed to see the nymph match the faun, shot for shot, both of them hitting the bullseye every time—and thereafter, she was gladly welcomed into the company as an archer and a scout in her own right. All in all, Cynthia managed to single-handedly lift the battered morale of all the rebels (or, at least, all the male rebels), and in turn, their camaraderie helped her to leave behind the memory of Pyskis Village.

One evening, some time later, the company made camp just as a freezing drizzle blew in from the northeast. Stinging water-droplets fell from the sky and froze solid on contact with the ground. The soldiers rushed to put up tents and thereby shelter themselves from the miserable weather. They could only hope that it didn't persist through the next day, or worse, turn to hail in the night. As it was, this sleet-storm would coat the ground in a slick layer of ice, making the next day's march a dangerous prospect for the hoofed fauns and centaurs.

That night, Pete sat alone beneath a hastily erected lean-to, wrapped tightly in a coarse blanket and shivering beside a small fire that sputtered and sizzled every time the wind kicked up and spattered it sidelong with a blast of freezing rain. In his hands, he held the sabre of the knight who had died on their trek south from the haunted region of the woods. He had carried the weapon ever since that day. Now he sat by the dying fire, trying to convince himself that it was a matter of practicality, and not some piteous reminder of misplaced guilt.

"You look very sad," said a sweet and girlish voice.

Pete looked up. Cynthia stood outside the small shelter, totally unconcerned by the icy droplets. Her gauzy dress and sable hair clung to supple, youthful curves. "How are you not f-freezing to death?" Pete asked, sincerely curious.

The nymph took in the human's words and then giggled softly, a sound so merry and pleasant that Pete couldn't help but crack a smile himself. "Cold doesn't bother me," Cynthia said. "No more than it bothers the trees."

"But you don't hibernate in the winter?" asked Pete, smiling at his own statement of the obvious.

Cynthia's tinkling laugh rang out again, and she crept under the cloth roof of the lean-to to sit next to Pete. "No," she said, "we don't. We dryads are tree spirits, and so we are quite like the trees, but not so _very_ like them." The nymph stretched out her hands and her bare feet, warming them by the flickering fire. She didn't need the warmth, but she liked how it felt. A minute or so passed by in silence. Then she asked, "Why don't you tell me what saddens you?"

"I've just got… things on my mind," said Pete, turning the sword over in his hands. "I… I don't know why I'm doing… any of this."

"You do it because you must. You are a Son of Adam, and it is your destiny."

"Everybody keeps telling me that!" said Pete. "But I don't know the first thing about… fighting a war, or leading, or any of this! Whatever it is you people want me to be, I'm not that guy!"

Cynthia tilted her head and looked at the human out of the corner of her eye. "Then learn," she said. Taking the sheathed sabre from Pete's hands, she drew the blade and angled it so that his eyes and hers reflected in the metal, glinting in the firelight. "Become a warrior worthy of the faith that they place in you."

Pete picked up a stick and poked idly at the little campfire. "A warrior? In a world full of destinies and witches and magic spells? Sounds less than useless." And that was exactly how Pete felt—useless—ever since he had wasted the last of his bullets on the fearsome Count Serpens. At length, he sighed and said, "Penelope and Phineas are the ones running this show. I'm just along for the ride. I'm making it all up as I go…"

Cynthia smiled. "It's no mean thing to be flexible. Like a tall pine that survives a storm by bending in the wind, you can adapt." She carefully slid the knight's sword back into its scabbard and handed it back to Pete. "I think you will adapt. I think you will surprise yourself."

Pete looked over at Cynthia and smiled weakly. "Thanks. That's… I mean, except for Lumpkin, you're really the only encouraging person I've met since coming here."

The nymph frowned at that and shook her head. "No," she said quietly. "No, I'm not."

"What do you mean?"

Cynthia looked into Pete's eyes and explained with solemnity, "Lumpkin is the _only_ encouraging person you've met, because you and the dwarf are the only 'persons' in this company. I am not a person—I am a spirit."

"What?"

"As I said, the nymphs are tree spirits—and spirits are not people. Such was the decree of the Emperor in the East, when Narnia was created."

Pete's face scrunched up with confusion. "Well, then, what about all the other guys—the fauns and the centaurs?"

"They are beasts," said the nymph. "But you are human—a Son of Adam. And Lumpkin is a dwarf, a Son of Earth. But the rest of us… we are lesser creatures. Our rule was given over to your kind, long ago."

Pete shook his head. "I _really_ don't like the sound of that. It… it just hits kind of close to, well… God, I don't think I could explain this to somebody who didn't grow up with my country's history, but… doesn't that all just sound kind of, I don't know, _wrong_ to you? Calling people 'lesser' and 'beasts' and 'not persons?'"

"It doesn't matter how it sounds," said Cynthia. "The Emperor over the Eastern Sea, Aslan's father, has made it so—and so it is."

"Hmph. Emperors and kings and all that jazz, and on top of it, I've got to be everybody's frigging _savior_. 'Help us, Obi-Wan Pevensie! You're our only hope!'" Pete shook his head and tossed the sword roughly onto ground. "I don't want this job. Even if we win, I could never be a king."

Cynthia then leaned over to Pete and touched her lips to his cheek. "That, I think, is why you're meant to be our ruler. And I think you will make a great king." Rising from her seat, she gave another soft giggle at the stunned look on Pete's face. Then, twirling with the grace of a prima ballerina, she danced back out into the rain, and out of sight.

Pete touched his cheek where the nymph had kissed him. "Huh. It's good to be the king."

* * *

The next day, as the rebel army resumed its march, Pete jogged to the front of the column to catch up with Phineas. "Hey, buddy. Can we talk for a bit?"

The faun looked surprised. "Don't you usually converse with the dwarf when we travel?"

"Yeah, but he's been kind of sulky for the past couple of days, and anyway, you might be able to tell me more of what I want to know."

Phineas glanced at Pete, but only briefly, so as not to take his scouting eyes off of the horizon. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, uh… nymphs, I guess. I mean, um, I want to know _about_ nymphs. I'm curious—and, if I'm going to be a king like everybody keeps telling me, I have to get to know the people in this country, right?"

"I see," said Phineas evenly. "And would this sudden curiosity have anything to do with the charming Lady Cynthia?"

"It might," grinned Pete. "Why do you ask?"

"I suppose I'm curious as well. Of your intentions towards the lady, that is." The faun was quite serious as he spoke, mirroring none of Pete's flippancy.

"My… _intentions_? What are you, her father all of the sudden? Anyway, you don't have to worry about me and her. That… could never happen." The thought hadn't really entered into Pete's mind until now. He couldn't… could he…?

"And why couldn't it ever happen?" asked Phineas.

"Well, for one thing, she looks like a sixteen-year-old kid. I'm twice that age! Back where I come from, we'd call it 'statutory.' Or 'jailbait.'"

Phineas quirked a small smile. "You think she is a youth? A child? Mi'lord Peter, nymphs do not age as you and I do. She is more than a thousand years old, at least!"

"Doesn't make it any less weird," retorted Pete. "Still… I guess… it's just, you've got to understand where I'm coming from, all right? I haven't seen another human being in… how many weeks have I been in Narnia now? More than a month, anyway, and, well, Cynthia is the first girl I've seen in all that time who's not… um… _furry_ on the bottom. No offense."

Phineas threw back his head and laughed aloud at that. "None taken!" he said. "Believe it or not, I quite understand. It has been many a year since I myself have seen a nymph. They are…"

"…Indescribable," supplied Pete. "Yeah, I noticed that. But at least you've got females of your own species around! There are girl-fauns right here in our little army, but—"

"Faunas," corrected Phineas. "A female of my race is called a fauna."

"Right, okay. Faunas. Point is, there aren't any human women here, which kind of puts my love-life up a creek."

Phineas finally took his attention away from the terrain and looked at Pete intently, one eyebrow raised. "While you are correct, in that there are no Daughters of Eve that I am aware of in Narnia, you _will_ someday be king of this land. And you will be expected to take a queen. Naturally, she will have to be of some race _other_ than human."

Pete looked back at Phineas, the color drained from his face. "Whoa," he said. "That's… a wild thought."

"So… back to _my_ question," said the faun. "Your intentions towards the lovely Cynthia?"

Now it was Pete's turn to give Phineas the funny look. Suddenly, he snorted and burst out laughing. "Hey, I get it! You… you're sweet on this chick!"

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

Pete lowered his voice to a whisper, but he was still chortling. "You like Cynthia? Listen, don't worry about me! I'm definitely not looking to settle down and pick out curtains anytime soon, so—"

Phineas interrupted Pete, but he was puzzled: "So… you do not intend to pursue her?"

"Nah," said Pete. "Like I said, she's not my kind. And, I'm gonna level with you here, buddy. I do _not_ plan on sticking around after we ice the Witch. First chance I have to go back home? I'm _gone_."

Phineas and Pete were some distance ahead of the column by now, scouting on near point. They were trekking over open plains, not following any particular road, but always aiming for the highest of the ruddy peaks in the distance. When the human made his pronouncement, Phineas gave him a sour look and said, "This word you keep using, 'buddy.' What does it mean?"

"'Friend,'" said Pete. "It just means 'friend.'"

"Well then, Peter, my 'buddy,' if you do not mean to rule Narnia, why would you fight for us? How can we trust you to commit to our cause, if you promise to be 'gone' at your first chance?"

"Don't get me wrong," said Pete, throwing up his hands. "I'll fight the good fight as long as I'm stuck here. I mean, who wants to live in some ice-box of a country, with a Wicked Witch in the White House? I want to be very clear about this part, though: someday, I _will_ find my way home. Then, it's no more nature hikes, no more sword fights, no more destiny, no more king. Just beer, pizza, and cable TV for me. _¿_ _Comprendes, amigo?_ "

"Yes," said Phineas, fixing his angry gaze on the agitated human. "Yes, I think I comprehend you perfectly for once."

They walked on in silence for several more minutes. Then, out of the blue, Pete gave a low whistle. "A thousand years," he said. "I've got to tell you, bro, she's pretty cute for her age. Good luck." When Phineas didn't respond, Pete asked, "By the way, just out of curiosity, how old are _you_?"

The faun glanced at Peter. "Me? I'm quite young yet, as fauns go. A mere one-hundred-and-thirty-seven years. In fact, I am the youngest faun ever to be made a Marchwarden of the Runners," he added with a hint of pride.

"Jeez. And I haven't even hit forty yet. I guess everybody in this world is going to outlive me: nymphs, dwarves, centaurs…"

"Not centaurs," offered Phineas. "They are a short-lived race. I would guess that Captain Penelope is no older than you. As I might have guessed: you both have a certain brash youthfulness about you, _my boy._ "

"Very funny, _old man_."

To speak of the devil, at that very moment, the good captain herself trotted up to the pair from behind. Pete looked over his shoulder and saw the centauress coming. He gave her a casual wave. "Yo."

"And what are you two discussing so intently up here?" she asked. Now the three of them were some fifty yards ahead of the rebel force.

"Nothing," said Pete. "Just… talkin' bout my generation. And our newest ally."

Penelope rolled her eyes. "Yes, the nymph seems to be on everybody's tongue at the moment. Quite the popular conversation topic. Personally, I think it's rather convenient that she appeared when she did, just as we arrived at the vanquished sprite-town."

Pete looked at Penelope and saw her staring back impassively. "You don't trust her," he said. "You think she might be a spy?"

"Preposterous," said Phineas. "She was _digging graves_ when we found her. A spy—"

"Would do anything to appear harmless and garner our sympathy," said Penelope. "Males! Always thinking with your—"

"Hey now," said Pete, "no need to go there. Some of us can keep a clear head. Watch each other's backs. Right?"

"Yes," said Penelope, " _some_ of us can. What about _you_?"

"I…" Pete paused and looked down at the sabre buckled to his hip. "I need the two of you to teach me."

"Teach you?" echoed Phineas.

"Teach me everything," said Pete. "Fencing, shooting, tracking, tactics. Whatever you've got, I've got a feeling that I'm going to need it."

"All right," said Penelope. She nodded her agreement, and so did the faun. "I'll start to teach you the sword when next we make camp."

"And I, the bow," said Phineas. "In the meanwhile, your instruction as a tracker begins now…"

* * *

The company now marched beneath the very shadow of Mount Pire, the tallest peak in the Red Mountains. To the west, the Archen River flowed down from those peaks, and beyond that, the Telmar as well. The Archen River and the Red Mountains together formed the boundary between Narnia and Archenland, and now, to continue their journey, they would need to find a pass through these rugged heights.

"Friend Lumpkin," said Phineas, when the company halted at the peak of a foothill, "Yon mountain is called Pire, and I do believe that it is a stronghold of your folk, the Red Dwarves?"

Lumpkin nodded. "Yes, it is."

"The passes over the mountains are all going to be blocked by snow," said Penelope. "Centuries of winter will have seen to that. The only way for us to get into Archenland will be to go around these mountains, or to go under them."

The dwarf looked down and scraped his boot on the frigid soil. "Yes. This is also true."

Pete sighed. "All right, Lumpkin let's have it. We've been putting up with the Droopy Dog act for two weeks now, so what's your deal already?"

"I… I…"

Cynthia, too, was near at hand, and she knelt down in front of the dwarf. "It is all right, whatever you have to tell us."

"Well," began Lumpkin, "as you all know, I am a Red Dwarf. My folk are not renowned as warriors; but as miners and smiths, we are unparalleled. The Black Dwarves, who come from the north, are warlike and fierce, but little skilled with hammer and forge. And they side with the White Witch."

"All this, we already know," said Phineas.

"Some of us," said Pete. "Anyway, keep going."

Lumpkin nodded. "Yes. I… it was many, long years ago when I was made to leave my home and resettle in the Western Woods. The reason you found me there, Lord Peter, the reason that I had to leave Mt. Pire… is because I was exiled from my kind. I am not welcome in the Red Mountains."

Penelope put her hands on her hips (or her withers, at any rate). "What did you do, dwarf?"

"I was exiled… for collaboration. For teaching a Black Dwarf how to forge weapons. It is a high crime among the Red Dwarves."

Penelope and Phineas seemed stricken, while Cynthia remained unaffected. But they all looked to Peter for a decision. "How long ago was this?" asked Pete.

"About… seventy years ago," said Lumpkin.

"You know, I haven't forgotten how we met. You almost sold me out."

"But I _didn't_ , not in the end!" said Lumpkin, falling to his knees.

"As a last-minute dodge, to save your own hide!" shouted Pete. He sighed again. "Look, shorty. If we're going to be friends here, we've all got to trust each other. No more secrets or skeletons in the closet, okay?"

The dwarf, nearly on the verge of tears, sniffed and nodded.

"All right," said Pete, "here's what we're going to do. The dwarves of Mt. Pire are our best shot to get through the mountains, so—"

In that moment, a cry of terror rose up from the soldiers. Faun and centaur alike were pointing into the air, and several were shouting " **Alarm! Alarm, we are under attack!** " A centaur galloped up to where Pete and the others had been holding conference. "Look to the sky!" he shouted. "Attack from above! _**Harpies!**_ "


	11. Chapter 11

CAPTAIN Penelope sounded the retreat. There was no other choice. The attack came swiftly and brutally. And it left no question in Pete's mind: the White Witch knew of the rebellion, and she meant to see it destroyed. Her chosen method of destruction: a flock of harpies, armed with bows, and flying well above the reach of any missiles launched from the ground. Like hideous, wrinkled women they were, but with beaked faces, scaly bodies, and dirty, ragged wings of mottled brown and gray. The talons they had in place of their feet held the bows and drew the strings.

The company fled. Over the open, hilly country—rocky and rising though it was—they ran for their very lives. Arrows rained down, and all too often they found their mark—a testament to the eagle-eyed aim of the foul bird-women. Fauns and centaurs, pierced through the head and through the back, dropped and fell away as the company made its escape into the foothills.

All around, Pete heard cries of terror and alarm. Never before had he seen these troops so disoriented and afraid. Penelope galloped past, and Pete saw that she had scooped up Lumpkin en route. He was thankful for that—the dwarf could never have kept up with the others on his own. Still, that meant that now Pete was the slowest of the company, for the centaurs were as swift as the ponies they resembled, and even the most sluggish faun could outrun a human.

"Come on!" cried Phineas, motioning for Pete to hurry. "Follow the captain and the dwarf—they'll know where to lead us!"

And so Pete ran, though Phineas soon greatly outdistanced him. As the human was being overtaken by the rest of the harried rebels, he saw the nymph Cynthia pushing her way towards him. Amidst the cries of injury and death, her voice rang out. "Lord Peter!"

Soon, the human and the nymph were dashing headlong over the hills together, though they made up the rear of the fleeing mass. Overhead, screeches and squawks grated on the nerves and sent shivers down Pete's spine. The harpies were staying high, and still they winged missiles down to pick off straggling rebels. Occasionally, one of the fauns or centauresses would put an arrow to a bowstring and shoot back, but this did nothing at all: the missile would arc high, but it would never reach its target, and the unfortunate shooter who lagged behind the group to aim would inevitably be targeted and slain.

Pete supposed that a dozen and more of his comrades had already been killed, when at last he saw their goal ahead: a cave in the mountainside, carved into the shape of a door, with runes and sigils etched along the rim. The opening yawned like a black hole, and Penelope and the centaurs were already dashing inside, soon to be followed by Phineas and the fauns. Cynthia reached the doorway next, and then so did Pete. He looked up… and saw that the harpies were circling overhead. Like vultures waiting for a carcass. But they were no longer shooting, nor did they swoop down to follow…

"Come on!" said Cynthia, tugging Pete by the arm and dragging him inside.

* * *

In the dark of the cave, there was much fumbling and confusion. The groans of hurt and despair were many, but above it all, Penelope's voice rang out with a question. "How many did we lose?"

"At least a baker's dozen," said Pete. "Where are you? I can't see a damned thing!"

"Somebody strike a blasted torch!" commanded Phineas.

"I can see with perfect ease," said Lumpkin. "We are in a vast hall. Several tunnels lead out from here, all worked into the stone by dwarvish hands. But there are no dwarves here. There's nobody. We are quite alone."

There was a snap and a sputtering hiss, and torch came to light in the hands of one of the fauns. Then another was lit, and another, and soon the cavern became visible. As Lumpkin had said, it was vast, a vaulted dome high overhead, with many side-tunnels. And it was empty.

Penelope and Phineas conducted a quick head-count and agreed that their losses totaled no fewer than sixteen of their number. And their attackers had carried out this slaughter and rout without a single casualty of their own. The soldiers were disheveled and terrified, and now, to make matters worse, they were trapped beneath a mountain—bereft of the open air and the warmth of the sun.

Pete looked at each of the tunnels in turn. "Which way, Lumpkin? If we can find the Red Dwarves, they'll probably join up with us."

"I would not count on that," said Penelope. "The dwarves might claim to oppose the Witch, but they have hidden in their tunnels all these long years, mining and hoarding. Rarely do they venture onto the surface."

"Lumpkin?" asked Pete.

The dwarf frowned and shook his head. "I have been away for a long time. I cannot say what my kin will choose to do. They may do as they have always done and keep to their own, 'the dwarves for the dwarves.' Or, they may recognize the Son of Adam and follow him into battle. We do not know what kind of welcome we shall receive… until we have received it."

"Then let us move on," said Phineas. "Which way, friend Lumpkin?"

The dwarf pointed at the central tunnel, the largest of the lot. "There," he said. "That way lies a stair which will take us to the under-city, and the palace of King Dorin."

* * *

The rebels formed a narrow column and marched slowly into the tunnel, the fauns before and the centaurs after. Fauns possessed the natural balance of mountain-goats, and so they had little to fear from climbing stairs or negotiating rough tunnels. But centaurs were meant to run over the open plains, and none among them relished a prolonged journey under the ground. They would have to pick their way carefully through each cavern, for a simple chasm or rock-fall could prove a formidable barrier indeed to these knights. But the work of the dwarves was skillful, and the tunnels seemed to be smoothed and well-cleared, and the stairs were cut low, so as to be comfortable for dwarves to climb. For now, the journey would be an easy one.

And then they reached the top of the climb, and the tunnel opened into another cavern, and here Lumpkin let out a howl of despair like none present had ever heard. Here was a cave, smaller than the entryway, with another tunnel—this one sloping back down—on the other side. It was a landing or way-station of sorts. And strewn about were corpses, axe-hacked and arrow-pierced, and all of them desiccated and covered with cobwebs. The battle which had taken place here was decades old, at least.

"Not good," said Pete. "I'm having a real 'Mines of Moria' flashback moment over here."

Phineas, who had been walking at the head of the column with Pete, Cynthia, and Lumpkin, looked to the remains. "Dwarves… and goblins. More than half a century past, I ween, if only from the thickness of the dust that lies upon the cave-floor."

"Fifty years," growled Lumpkin. "Fifty years or more have my kin-folk rested here, slain but unavenged! And I never knew, because of my exile!" The dwarf leaned back and let out a roar of murderous rage.

"Quiet!" hissed Phineas. "Stay your echoes! If the dwarves had won this battle, would there still be corpses here?"

"No," said Lumpkin. "Of course not. They would rest in tombs, with honors. Only goblins are so crass as to leave their own dead to corrupt in the open air."

Cynthia looked upward, to the cavern ceiling which hung low over their heads. "I would hardly call this place 'open' anything."

"To a dwarf, my lady, it is exactly that," said Lumpkin. He took a steadying breath and said, "There is work to be done here, but it must wait for another day. Our mission is more urgent, and the souls of the fallen can have patience in eternity. But this, I do swear: someday, Mount Pire will again be a home of dwarves, and a mighty stronghold. And then, every goblin in the Red Mountains will quake to hear its name uttered!"

By now, Penelope had pushed her way through the ranks of the fauns and come to the top of the stair. "Why have we stopped?" she asked. Then she saw the remains of the battle and growled in frustration. "Goblins…"

"Yeah," said Pete. "Goblins. So, can we step it up here? I've seen how this movie ends, and it isn't happy." As he looked around at all of the dead bodies, Pete rued for the first time in his life that he was a detective and not a forensic scientist. He dealt with the living. He could read people, judge people, tell when they were lying or hiding something… but cadavers couldn't tell him much of anything. There were no clues to be found here—just a whole lot of mystery.

* * *

The company marched down the next tunnel, and this time they emerged in a natural rift in the stone. They were on a ledge overlooking a great cleft that descended into darkness at a steep slope, an angle of fifty or maybe sixty degrees. Both the ridge and cleft continued ahead for a hundred yards and more, smooth and passable—but the ridge itself was less than twenty yards wide, and under ten in places. They proceeded with the utmost care, Lumpkin going first to spot any weakness in the stone.

They traveled in silence. Only rarely did anybody dare to speak, and even then, words were kept short. Only the clanking of armor and the clip of hooves on stone echoed in the rift. Then there came a twang, the buzz of a missile taking flight, and a heavy crossbow bolt clacked off the cliffside and bounced down the slope. "There!" shouted Penelope from the center of the column. "Goblins! Archers, ready!"

Across the cleft, on the far wall of the cavern, a small opening sat in the stone. It was partially blocked by boulders and stalagmites, and a small party of goblins had taken cover behind these obstructions. Two more crossbows loosed their quarrels, and these overshot their mark and clattered against the rock-wall above the heads of the company.

Fauns set arrows to their bows, as did the centauresses in the group, and soon a hail of missiles flew over the chasm. The goblins ducked behind the stone; none found their mark. "Loose at will!" Penelope ordered.

Cynthia, too, had taken up her bow, and she was about to shoot at a goblin, when one peeked out from around a column of rock and lined up a target in the sights of his weapon. The crossbow twanged, and a dart came flying… straight at Pete. "NO!" cried the nymph, dropping her weapon and diving for the human.

"What the…?"

The crossbow bolt sailed by, narrowly missing both Pete and Cynthia. But she collided into Pete, and then he lost his footing. The two of them, human and nymph, were now tumbling down a slide, rolling and skidding, abraded and battered by the rock. Pete hit his head and slipped into unconsciousness, but not before he remembered hearing the voices of Lumpkin and Penelope shouting his name in horror.

The man who would be king had just been pushed off a cliff—and now he was lost from their sight.


	12. Chapter 12

LUMPKIN and Penelope both howled in surprise as Pete and Cynthia plummeted down the chasm together. Archers sent more and more darts flying over the gap, and one goblin—the very sniper who had drawn a bead on Pete—was punctured through the middle and sent falling down into the darkness. Another of his fellows took an arrow in the head, and then the dull "blat" of a ram's horn sounded, and the goblin archers retreated from their position. But for the nymph and their human leader, none had been harmed by the harrying of the goblins.

Phineas strode over to the edge and said to Penelope, "She did it to save his life. He would have been shot if she hadn't acted."

The centauress scowled and said, "That hardly matters now! Death by quarrel or death by fall is still _death_! The stupid nymph has… has… she has taken our _hope_ from us!" A lump was caught in Penelope's throat. Dead… Pete was gone, and with him, so was any chance of dethroning Queen Jadis.

"I think," said Lumpkin, "that this rift has a bottom we might reach by other means. Oh, it's much too far to cast a rope down, but there ought to be another way. A tunnel, or another stair perhaps. I cannot be sure… it has been so very long… but we must try. We must find out what has become of Lord Peter."

"Could either of them have survived that fall?" asked Phineas. "Cynthia, perhaps, for nymphs are not as frail as they look. But I fear I know next to nothing of the human constitution."

"They didn't exactly fall," said Lumpkin. "Rather… they slid. They may yet be alive, but they are certainly injured and in need of swiftest aid. We must hurry! Come, follow me!"

* * *

Since arriving in Narnia, Pete had been knocked out once or twice before. It was never a pleasant thing, waking up from that. Especially when one had been battered, bruised, and bashed on the noggin. "Maybe this time I'll get lucky," mumbled Pete. "Maybe this time I have a fatal concussion, and I won't have to put up with anymore bullshit."

Slowly, he opened his eyes. It was too dark to see, but he could feel that his eyes were definitely open. And he could feel his head throbbing. And every inch of the rest of him ached like a sonofabitch. Which meant that he was alive. Well, that was something. "Cynthia?" he groaned. "You there?"

He tried to prop himself up on one arm, but he didn't have the strength. And it hurt too much to move. "Ow… Christ!" Hissing with pain, he collapsed back onto the stone floor. "Anybody?"

Footsteps. Voices. Grunts and growls. The flicker of firelight.

Pete didn't know how much time had passed, or whether he had been dreaming or not, but he was slipping in and out of awareness. Then came rough laughter and a deep voice: "Look at this, boss! The pasty fink is wakin' up!"

An even lower voice was present. It gave a throaty growl and then said, "I can see that, you miserable maggot. What have we found here? A lost elf, perhaps?"

"Don't rightly know. S'pose it might be good for eatables?"

Slurping. Sniffing. Then the low voice rumbled, "Perhaps. But this intruder might know something about the others. The Master will want to question him."

"Aw, bollocks. _He's_ never any fun."

"Yaw," said a third voice. "Gives me the right shivers, that one does. You don't mean to tell us we have to go see _him_ , do ya boss?"

"Yes I do," said the voice of the one who seemed to be in charge. He roared something unintelligible and said, "Do you have a _problem_ with my decision?"

He was answered by a chorus of "No!" and "Of course not!" and "You're the boss, boss!"

Pete blacked out again.

* * *

The human woke up to prodding fingers. There was a fire in the cave, and he could see. The creature standing over him was hideous: dwarf-sized, green skinned, with a pointed nose and jutting fangs. A goblin! Pete screamed and rolled away. The goblin screamed back.

Three more goblins came into the chamber, and behind them strode a tall figure, roughly of human height, with coal-black skin, reddish eyes, and an upturned, piggish nose. "Quiet that noise!" the large creature rumbled.

So this, then, was "boss," reasoned Pete. "You—" Pete's voice cracked. He coughed. "You're… not a goblin."

The big monster laughed deeply and said, "Well, aren't you just as sharp as a dull knife? No, up-dweller, I am a _hobgoblin_. You would do well not to mistake the likes of me for one of these pathetic little snots." To emphasize his point, the hobgoblin kicked one of the little green goblins with an iron-shod foot. The creature gave a yowl and scurried off to sulk in another part of the cave.

"What do you want with me?" asked Pete.

"I? Were I to have my say, you would be _dinner_ ," said the hobgoblin. The goblins laughed in wicked glee and jumped up and down, clapping their gnarled hands. "But the Master has lately arrived, and he will want to know _everything_ about you. So you must be taken to _him_ , alive and undamaged." The hobgoblin knelt down and snarled into Pete's face. "It is a disappointment I will not soon recover from. _Please_ , give me an excuse to _cut something off_."

Pete was scared out of his wits, but his detective's instinct hadn't quite left him yet. And he could tell one thing about this creature: it was really, truly scared of its "Master," whoever that was. "Alive and undamaged" meant exactly that, for now.

"Get him up," commanded the hobgoblin. The other goblins now roughly pulled Pete off the ground and stood him on his feet. Pete looked down. He was cut and bruised, and his clothes were torn. The goblins had taken his sword and tied his hands. Nothing seemed sprained or broken, which was something. But the goblins hadn't mentioned Cynthia, and there was no sign of her in the cave. That was either very bad, or very good.

"It's a long road to the Master's place," said the hobgoblin. "March!"

* * *

Pete was pushed, prodded, and shoved through tunnel after tunnel. Many hours passed, until, at long last, they emerged in a great cavern. On the far side, a sheer rock-face was carved to resemble the façade of a temple, with great columns and tall statues of humanlike knights and lords. Dwarves hadn't made this place, Pete figured, or the statues would have been shorter. And more of them would be bearded.

"Where are we?" asked Pete.

"An elvish tomb," replied his hobgoblin captor. "The Master likes it here."

That didn't bode well. What kind of sick loony-toon could possibly enjoy living in an underground crypt? And then Pete got his answer: the Master appeared in the doorway. Armored head to toe in cast-iron plate and mail, Pete had seen him before—and this was one Black Knight that he would never forget meeting.

"You!" cried Pete. "But… it can't be… how?"

Count Serpens laughed—a wheezing hiss that turned Pete's stomach. "Sss-sss-sss. You truly thought that you left me— _me_ , the champion of my beloved mistressss—trapped in the Western Woods? We have ways, _Peter Pevensssie_. We have the means to travel wherever we wish to go, so long as it is beneath the ground. In tunnels, in caves, the cursed sssun never touches my children or me."

The count removed his helmet, revealing his pallid skin and jet-black beard, the dull and unseeing eyes gazing straight through Pete. He approached and sneered. "I admit, this is a fortunate turn of events. I did not expect to find the likes of you, human—not here of all places, and ssseparated from your friends! Tell me, what happened to your 'army?' Were they slain by my lady's gremlins? Or by her harpies? Or were the found by the troll that haunts the dwarf-tunnels above?"

Pete met the vampire's stare. "Why don't you go sit on a wooden stake?"

Serpens smiled. "Brave to the last. Good. _Breaking you_ will be more fun that way." Now he turned to the monsters who had delivered Pete. The goblins were shaking so badly that their knees knocked together. Even the hobgoblin couldn't hide the look of terror on his face. "You have done well," said the count. "Consider yourselves in my favor. Now, leave quickly… and see that you do not disappoint me."

"Yes… yes, Master!" croaked the hobgoblin. Then he and his diminutive henchmen made themselves scarce with all possible haste.

A squad of armed zombies marched forth from the tomb and surrounded Pete. These mindless walking corpses had blank looks on their faces, and the only noises they could make were inarticulate moans. But they were able to point spears, and so they made an effective guard. Pete was forced to go where they drove him.

"Take him to the torture-chamber," said Count Serpens. "Then the amusement will begin."

* * *

"This place," said Count Serpens, "is called the Tomb of the Ancient Kings. It was built by King Olvin, an elf-lord of Archenland, many centuries ago. Is that where you were bound, Peter? Archenland? To ally with the elves, perhaps?"

Pete was tied to a stone column, in some dark room somewhere, deep within the Tomb. His body was covered in fresh cuts and burns. He was barely lucid enough to speak. "Gh," he mumbled. "Go… to hell."

"You firssst," said Serpens. He looked Pete up and down. On a nearby platform sat a bloody dagger, and a glowing brand rested within a brazier of hot coals. So far, the human had proven unbreakable… but this was only their first session, and Serpens was taking it easy. "Your ssstrength is considerable, Peter. I might have underestimated you. We shall resume this discussion… sssoon."

* * *

Pete didn't know what time of day it was. He didn't know how long he had been underground, how long he had spent knocked out in a goblin cave, or how long he had been tortured by his vampiric nemesis. But he knew that it was over for the time being, because the zombie guards had tossed him unceremoniously onto a stone-cold floor and left him. He heard their footfalls tramp away and the _slam_ of a dungeon-cell door being shut.

"What is it?" mumbled a soft voice. "What have they brought?"

Pete started. There was somebody else with him in the cell! "Who's there?"

"It talks! It talks, it talks, it talks… haven't had that in a long time. Long, long, long, long, long, long time. Time."

Pete rolled over and tried to sit up. But everything hurt. He opened his eyes. The face he saw was startling. At first, Pete thought that he had been imprisoned with another hobgoblin. The man in the cell with him certainly had the same height, the same build, and the same porcine nose. But he lacked the hobgoblin's red eyes, coal-colored skin, and clawed fingers. In fact, the rest of him looked almost human… except for the ears. Those were pointed. "Who're you?" asked Pete.

"Who? Who. Falon. I was called Falon, once. Or twice. Perhaps more than that. Because it was my name. Falon. Yes, Falon… Falon…"

"Great," Pete grumbled. "I get locked in a dungeon by a vampire, and my cellmate is even battier. Tell me, Falon, why does ol' Mr. Walking Super-Villain Cliché have you rotting here in the slammer with me?"

The strange creature called Falon crawled over to the wall of the cell and pressed his cheek to it. "He found me in the Tomb of Kings. I was here… because I was here. I was… he found me and decided to keep me. Yes, he keeps me because I am unique. The only one of my kind. Mad, yes, but the only one." The mumbling creature then suddenly lowered his voice, and his words took on an aspect of sanity. "Sooner or later, he will take us into Narnia and give us over to the White Queen."

"Yeah, I pretty much figured that out for myself," said Pete. "I don't suppose you have any brilliant escape plans, do you? A tunnel dug with a spoon, or something?"

"Tunnel? Escape? No, no, no escape. No plans. I'm mad, remember? Insane." Falon crawled back over to Pete and ran his hands along the human's torn clothes. "They don't feel it if you try to fight them. They don't care if you pretend to be sick. I _am_ sick, and they don't care. I always fight, and it never works. How about you? Any dug plans or brilliant spoons?"

Pete rolled over and groaned. He was a dead man.


	13. Chapter 13

DAYS had passed. Surely, it must have been days? Pete couldn't be sure. Sometimes they took Falon away. Sometimes they took him. Count Serpens was a very effective torturer. And Pete was only human. Sometimes, he let things slip. Yes, they were going to Archenland. Yes, to see the elves. Yes, the army had been in the dwarf tunnels. Every time Serpens learned something, every time he gleaned a piece of the story from Pete, the human felt like worthless trash. Like a traitor. He was now deep in the enemy's power. Serpens was in control. The Count held all the cards.

* * *

"You wish to depose my mistress," hissed the vampire harshly. "You mean to sit on the throne at Cair Paravel, and become King of Narnia, in place of its lawful queen!"

"Don't want to be king… never did… never asked for this…"

"Of course you didn't," said Serpens, his voice becoming soothing. Oily. Slick. "What do you want, Peter?"

"To go home," said the human. He was dazed… stunned, incapacitated by hours of torture. "Back to my world. To… humans."

"I can arrange it," said Serpens. "My mistress is a mighty witch. She could send you home… all you would have to do is kneel before her, and swear that you will never oppose her rule…"

Pete looked up and met Count Serpens's eyes for the first time in days. "Wooden stake through the heart…" he mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Beheading with a silver sword… Stuff your mouth full of garlic… Plunge you into running water… Direct sunlight, and you without your tanning lotion!" Pete giggled like a madman.

"Very good," said the count evenly. "You know all the proper methods for slaying a vampire. All of my weaknesses. Are you so learned in the dark art of necromancy, then?"

"Nope," said Pete. "I've just… seen all the Dracula movies. You pick up on these things, you know?"

He was rewarded with a punch to the face from Serpens's bare fist, unholy with strength. "I don't sssuppose you'd like for me to list all the ways I could think of killing _you_?" sneered the count.

Pete didn't speak. He was spitting up blood and trying to move his bruised jaw.

"Very well then," said Count Serpens. "This has gone on long enough. Tomorrow, we shall return to Narnia, and I shall bring you before Queen Jadis personally. I warn you, Peter, she might not be as gentle with you as I have been."

* * *

Pete was tossed into the dungeon cell once again. One way or another, he knew, this would be the last time. When next the Count came, it would be to deliver him back into Narnia, and into the grasp of Queen Jadis, the White Witch he was supposed to defeat. Was it day or night now? There was no way to tell. Not down here, in the perpetual darkness. Pete's memory… all fuzzy, full of blank spots. Falon, gibbering and fawning. Zombie guards, moaning, prodding with rusty spears. Count Serpens, baring his fangs and inching closer and closer to Pete's throat…

Pete screamed and sat up. A nightmare… it had to have been. Was it all some twisted dream? No… he smelled the musty air and felt the dank stone on his back. And it was dark, almost too dark to see anything. He was still in the dungeon. And there was Falon, huddled in the corner, hugging his knees to his chin and rocking back and forth. Pete was almost too tired to move. He groaned. "I feel like crap."

"Crap," mumbled Falon, testing the new word on his tongue. "Crap… crap, crap…"

In spite of everything, Pete laughed. It was a pitiful laugh, almost a sob really, but for this place it was practically a fit of hysterics. "You said it, pal. 'Cause this time, we're knee-deep in it!" Pete sat up and looked around the cell that he'd been forced to call home for probably a week now. It wasn't exactly a small room, but it was bare and windowless—except for a barred opening in the iron door—and Falon had been the only other occupant. "What _are_ you, Falon? What's your deal?"

The creature crawled over to Pete on his hands and knees. "Deal? Can't. No cards left in the pack. You tell first, what are you? Questions! Questions! Always questions, you first! _Grrr,_ damn you, you _first_!" His low-pitched, gentle voice slowly transformed into a frenzied shriek as he rambled on.

"Okay, okay!" shouted Pete. He sighed. Locked in a cell with Falon for who only knew how many days, he'd tried to talk to the crazy creature before. In fact, Pete had already told his own story several times, but apparently it hadn't sunk into the other prisoner's skull yet. "Jeez… like I said before. About a million times. I'm human. From another world. You remember that?"

Falon suddenly appeared stricken, as if he were shocked at his out outburst. "Yes, I remember," he said contritely. "I apologize. I am not always myself. No, not myself." Bringing his fingers up to his mouth, he whispered to himself for several moments. At length, he went back to speaking aloud. "My mother was an elf," he said slowly. Once again, his voice changed. It took on a more lucid aspect, and he spoke as if reciting something from distant memory. "She was a soldier. She rode to the defense of Archenland. Against Queen Jadis and the Narnians. Against her goblins. But she was captured. Captured in battle. Given to a hobgoblin, kept for a slave. When I was born, I was kept as well. We were slaves together. She told me stories, my mother did. Until she died. And then I was alone." Then Falon buried his head between his knees and went back to whispering.

Pete gaped. Falon was part elf, part hobgoblin? It certainly explained why Falon looked the way he did. It also explained why he was nuttier than a fruitcake—especially given the circumstances of his conception, which were all too obvious to Pete, even if Falon hadn't been able to say it aloud. Not that Pete could blame the poor man, of course. He'd certainly seen worse in his time, back on the streets of New York—but not much worse.

Pete tried to stand up. It took every ounce of effort he had. All his muscles were sore, and he felt… drained. Exhausted. But he managed to rise, even though it made his stomach queasy. "Look, Falon, I uh… I don't know how to say this, but… Count Serpens. He's done playing with us. Sooner or later, we're going to get dragged out of here, and they're going to march us all the way back to Narnia. To the White Witch."

Falon looked up at Pete and howled in despair. All the color drained away from his face and he said, "The Enemy of Everything. She is neither foul nor fair, good nor evil, but nothing! Just nothing! Chaos, void, nothing, nothing!" The half-breed broke down and started crying.

Pete didn't know what to do. He didn't understand what Falon was gibbering on about, and he didn't really think that he could comfort a madman. It might even be dangerous to try. He had never seen Falon grow violent exactly, but there was definitely some underlying anger there.

"Psst!" hissed a voice. "Psst! Lord Peter, is that you?"

"What the?" Pete whirled around and looked at the cell door. There was a face peeking through the bars in the tiny windows. It was Cynthia! Pete ran to the door and gripped the bars. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to free you," said the nymph. "After we fell, you were hurt. I couldn't wake you. Then goblins came, and I had to hide, and… oh, Peter, I'm so sorry! I've been trying to find you for days and days, and even once I knew where you'd been taken, I couldn't get close to you until now, because the guards, they're dead things, and they don't need to eat or sleep, and they just wouldn't go away!"

Pete tried to peek out into the hallway, but the little window was too small. "Then… where did the guards go this time?"

"I don't know! They just… vanished!" Cynthia shrugged her shoulders and said, "I didn't wait around to ask questions. I just came straight here. Now, get back from the door—we haven't much time!"

Pete backed away, and Falon hobbled forward and crouched behind Pete's legs. There was a scraping sound, followed by a series of snaps and clicks, and finally the lock on the door gave a turn and Cynthia pushed it open. Pete saw the nymph standing on the other side of the door, a couple of lockpicks in her hand and a grin of triumph on her face.

"Where did you learn to do _that_?" Pete asked. He rushed out of the cell with Falon close on his heels.

Cynthia just shrugged again and said, "When you've been alive as long as I have, you learn a little bit of everything. Even burglary." Then, throwing her arms around Pete's neck, she _kissed_ him full on the lips.

Pete was surprised, to say the least. Cynthia was… for crying out loud, her _tongue_ was… and after days on end in a dungeon cell with no hope! It was a head-rush. Intoxicating. And then the kiss was over. Pete stared at the nymph, who only smiled back. "Uh… thanks? I'm… really happy to see you too."

"Later," said Cynthia. "Let's get out of here!"

"Wait, hold on!" said Pete, looking the nymph up and down. Her dress was in tatters, barely hanging on in places, and she looked pale and wan, as if she hadn't eaten in a week. There were no cuts or bruises, indeed no sign of injury at all. But, all things considered, she actually looked worse for the wear than Pete did. "What in God's name happened to you?"

Cynthia looked down at herself and said, "Oh. This is just what happens to dryads when we don't get enough sunshine. I'm kind of… wilted. I'll be all right when we get out in the open air again."

Pete nodded. "Okay. Falon… you said that when Serpens found you, you were wandering around in these caves?"

"Yes," said the hybrid. "Yes, the Tomb of Kings, place of my ancestors. Place of elven kings. I knew this place well. Came often."

"Great," said Pete. "Then you're going to lead us out of here. Hopefully, we can make our way into Archenland and meet up with the others." The human walked over to a wall, where a couple of torches were set into sconces. He took one for himself and gave the other to Cynthia. He turned to Falon and said, "After you."

The hybrid nodded and crept ahead in the tunnel. Cynthia looked after the creature and then said to Pete, "Are you sure we can trust that… man?"

"Nope," said Pete, "but I'm pretty sure he's not one of the bad guys. So we're talking him with us, at least until we can find the others." Then, his body coursing with adrenaline and a newfound strength rooted in hope, Pete followed after Falon. Cynthia stayed close to his side.

* * *

Pete, Cynthia, and Falon emerged from a small cave on the southern slope of the Red Mountains. There was sunshine. And fresh air. Pete took a breath and closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his face. It was good to be alive. It was good to be free. The spectre of the vile Count Serpens seemed a million miles away. Did the Count know that they had escaped? Would he follow? It didn't matter. Pete was standing in the sun. Serpens couldn't get to him out here. He had no power in the daylight. For the first time in too many days, there was no reason to be afraid.

Pete looked over at Cynthia and grinned. She smiled back. Then something happened all at once that caused Pete to start and rub his eyes. The dryad… she was changing, before his very eyes. Yes, the color was coming back to her skin, a rose-red blush forming on her cheeks. But more than that, her hair… where it used to be a shock of snow-white locks, now it was turning green. Bright green, like maple leaves. "Cynthia… uh, did you take up using Green No. 9, or what?"

Confused, the nymph only said, "Huh?" Then she looked at the tresses that curled down over her shoulders and noticed the color-change for herself. "Oh. Oh my… Lord Peter, do you know what this means?"

"Uh… you've decided to become a groupie for a punk rock band?"

Cynthia giggled. She didn't quite understand the joke, but she recognized that Pete had said something witty, and it made her heart flutter. "No, silly. It means that springtime is here! Spring has come at last, for the first time in a thousand years!"

"No," said Falon. "Spring has not come to you. You have come to the spring. You have left Narnia. Now we are in Archenland, where the winter Witch has no power. We are free, free, free, free, teaspoon and biscuits, free, free…" Falon's voice trailed off into an inarticulate muttering.

Pete rolled his eyes and said, "I think what Falon means is, we're finally out of that stinking hole! So let's go find our friends!" Pete gave a whoop of celebration and embraced Cynthia. She hugged him back tightly and buried her head in the crook of his neck. That was when Pete remembered the kiss from earlier. "Uh, Cythina, that reminds me. We should… probably talk about…"

Before either Pete or Cynthia could say another word, Falon gave a cry of alarm and pointed down the hillside. Pete looked over Cynthia's shoulder and down to the countryside below. It was green… with growing grass and blooming trees… a most beautiful sight for sorest eyes. But then Pete followed Falon's pointing hand, and he saw the figure striding calmly toward them up the slope.

It was a man. Or rather, it looked like a man, middle-aged and blond-haired, with a long yellow beard that covered only his chin and fell to his waist. He was robed in gold and carried a staff of gnarled wood. His face was somewhat wrinkled, which added to his aura of sternness and wisdom. In fact, there was a presence about this man that undeniably belied power and goodness. None of the three escapees needed to ask to know that they were now being approached by a wizard of some sort.

"Greetings, Peter Pevensie of New York, Son of Adam" said the man in yellow. "Greetings, Cynthia of Narnia, Sprit of Trees. Greetings, Falon of the Red Mountains, Child of Light and Darkness. I bring you tidings from my father, the Emperor in the East. _For I am Aslan._ "


	14. Chapter 14

"ASLAN?" said Pete. " _You're_ Aslan? You're the guy that everybody's always talking about, the one with all the prophecies?"

The man in yellow gave a paternal smile and said, "Yes. I am he. And I come to you now with guidance for the path ahead. Your road is yet a long one, Peter, and it will not be easy. But with courage and a bit of faith, you will succeed in your mission."

"Um, no disrespect or anything," said Pete, "but is this the part where you offer up a bunch of vague metaphors and cryptic riddles, stuff that I won't understand until it's after-the-fact and too late to be of any use?" The human heard a pair of startled gasps from behind him. He looked back to see that Cynthia and Falon were both standing before Aslan with their eyes averted and their heads respectfully bowed. They weren't prostrated on the ground or anything, but they did clearly revere this Aslan person more than Pete had understood.

Aslan, though, didn't seem at all put off by the human's glibness. He just laughed, a deep and booming sound that reminded Pete of… of… a lion's roar, of all things. "No, my dear friend, I'll not speak to you in riddles! I'm sure that you have questions, and if you ask them, I shall answer. But I, too, have an errand of some import, and I cannot tarry all day long. We shall sit, and I shall speak plainly, until I must take my leave of you." Motioning to Cynthia and Falon, and indicating a pleasant spot of grass on the hillside, he said, "Come. Sit, and be not afraid. Peter, you have questions?"

"Only about a million of 'em," said Pete. "Where to begin? Uh… why me? And how did I get into Narnia, anyway? Can I ever go home?"

Aslan stroked his golden yellow beard and said at length, "You, Peter Pevensie, were chosen by providence. You were the right person in the right place at the right time. For just a moment, your world and this one were properly aligned, and a doorway opened between them. Such doors are rare, however. Even I dare not predict when you will be allowed to return home."

Pete sighed at that. "Okay. But could you, I don't know, _send_ me home? If I asked? Someday, after we save Narnia?"

"Assuming you succeed, _that_ is something you will have to ask me again, _after_ you save Narnia," said Aslan. "You may not wish to request the same favor then."

"Well… okay. If that's the way things have to be for now." But Pete was pretty sure that he would still want to go back to his own world when all was said and done. "But, I have to ask… where are _you_ going to be through all of this? Are you going to help us?"

"In some things, Peter, you are simply going to have to help yourself. But you have your friends to rely upon. And soon, you will have some allies. I have only lately come from Anvard, the great palace of Archenland. The elves know that you are coming, and they mean to welcome you with open arms. Though it did take some convincing on my part." Aslan sighed. "It is not my place to save you from all of your troubles, or to prevent all people's suffering. Would that I could, but it is not the Emperor's will, nor is it truly mine. You shall see me again, when you return to Narnia, but not as you see me now. Look to find me there in a different form."

"A different… form?" Pete looked off to the side and saw that Cynthia was nodding gravely. Falon was staring at Aslan, utterly transfixed. Both had remained quite silent this entire time. Turning his attention back to Aslan, Pete asked, "So… this form you have now. Human. It's not what you really are, is it?"

"Here in Archenland, it is how I reveal myself to the elves. They have come to expect a golden wizard, and so I go among them thus. But, no, I am not human." Aslan glanced up at the sky. The sun was high overhead. "Well, then. I must be off."

"Already?" said Pete. "But… one more question, okay?"

Aslan nodded, but he was already rising to stand.

"The White Witch. Jadis. Am I really the only person who can defeat her? I mean, we just escaped from the clutches of Count Creepshow, and I almost wound up dead! I need to know that I'm not Narnia's only hope!"

Aslan looked Pete in the eye and pronounced, "This I can foresee with certainty, Peter. _You_ will not defeat the White Witch, for that is not your part in this story. Play your given role, sit upon the throne at Cair Paravel and break her spell of eternal winter, and you will pave the way for her eventual defeat. But you would not be able to destroy Jadis on your own, and I would not ask it of you." Alsan regally raised up his wooden staff and said, "I bless you, Peter, in the name of my father, the Emperor-over-the-Sea. Your friends await you in the glen below. Go and meet them. Then you must go forth into Archenland, to Anvard, and there you will find your allies. After that, let your path carry you eastward, into Calormen, and beyond, to the Lone Isles. Your destiny awaits you there, Peter Pevensie. Goodbye, my friend, for now." With that, Aslan placed a hand on Peter's shoulder, smiled, and turned away, walking up the mountain and out of sight.

Peter stared after the yellow-robed figure. Aslan's touch had done… _something._ Somehow, it had lifted away the hurt, the fatigue, the pain of a week's torture and imprisonment. The ordeal in the Tomb of Kings seemed years distant now. Pete smiled. He felt better.

Then, up the mountain, in the distance, he saw a flash of yellow and heard a lion roar.

* * *

Penelope reclined on a flat slab of earth, her four legs tucked under her body. Phineas carefully applied a bandage to a gash that ran along the centauress's flank. Lumpkin stood nearby, tears of anger and mourning rolling down his cheeks. All around, fauns and centaurs stood, but so many fewer in number than had entered the dwarven tunnels on the north side of the mountain. Nearly half… that was how many had been slain by the creature—the terror of Mt. Pire—the _troll_.

After seeing Pete and Cynthia fall away into the chasm, the rebels had decided to trust to fate. They could only pray that Pete was alive, and that they could find him. And so they had followed Lumpkin, and the dwarf had led them down into the depths of the mountain. But in the lower tunnels, they had encountered goblins, the green-skinned foot-soldiers of Jadis, hated foes of the dwarves. Among these, leading them like officers, had been the hobgoblins—creatures of man-height and gray-black skin, they carried long swords and long bows, weapons too big for goblins to wield. Fearless fighters who felt no pain, hobgoblins were a dire foe indeed.

The rebels had met the goblin-folk in skirmish after skirmish, and often they emerged from battle with nary a casualty to show for it. Each victory had led them deeper and deeper underground, down to the roots of the mountain, to the limits of the Red Dwarves' explorations… and then Phineas, in one of his scouting forays, had come to a tunnel with great gashes in the stone, as if made by giant claws. Lumpkin had immediately recognized them for what they were: evidence of a troll, a terror of the deep, a ten-foot tall monster with skin like flint and diamond, a mass of muscle and berserk fury. One troll could destroy a small army, and this one had nearly done just that.

Penelope had been in the thick of it, hacking away with her twin sabres, hopeless though it was. Her swords were of the finest steel, but even they had not been able to dent the troll-hide. On either side of her, one after another, centaurs had been slain by a single slash of the monster's claws. Fauns had been ended with a snap of its jaws. Penelope had been gashed by one of the troll's fingers and then thrown clear away from the mêlée by the sheer force of the blow. She had been one of the lucky ones.

In full retreat, the rebels had made their way out of the troll-tunnel, dogged and pressed all the while by the mindless force of destruction that they had so unwittingly awakened. And then, in the midst of it all, with centaurs hurling javelins and fauns shooting darts from their short-limbed bows, Phineas had scored a lucky shot: he chanced to put a shaft into the troll's left eye. Feeling pain for what could have been the first time in its wretched life, the creature had doubled its fury, swiping its claws left and right, crashing them into the stone walls of the cave. That had been when Lumpkin stepped forth. With uncharacteristic bravery, he took up an axe that he had found some days earlier, in the hands of a long-slain dwarf up in the tunnels above. Hurling the weapon with all his might, Lumpkin had caught the troll squarely in the mouth, cutting off its terrible roars—and its life.

The price to defeat that single troll had been nearly seventy faun and centaur lives.

The memory of this carnage still sat fresh in everybody's mind, when down from the mountainside came Peter, Cynthia, and Falon. Until that moment, Penelope had thought that the slaughter had been in vain. She had thought that the rebels had failed; that Pete had been lost for good; that he was dead, and their quest, now hopeless, was over. But when the human strode into view, injured and disheveled though he was, a tear came to the eye of the centauress captain. He was alive. He was alive! "Peter!" she cried. "Lord Peter!"

All at once, the surviving rebels turned and witnessed in awe the return of their leader and savior. Lumpkin jumped up and ran to the human, embracing him around the legs. "Peter… you're alive!" he laughed. Looking up at the human, he made an indignant face and said, "It took you long enough to catch up with us!"

Phineas, too, came forward to greet his friend. "It's good that you made it, my 'buddy.' And you as well, Lady," he said to Cynthia.

The nymph only blushed and nodded.

"But," asked Phineas, "who is this… person?" He looked over Falon with a critical eye.

"This is Falon," said Pete. "He's a friend. Falon is from Archenland… sort of. And he helped Cynthia and me escape from Count Serpens."

A cry of surprise arose from Pete's comrades. Count Serpens? Under the mountain? They demanded that Pete tell his story. And so he did. And when this business was finished, Penelope recounted the story of the troll, and how it had been wounded by Phineas, and slain by Lumpkin.

Reunited at last, Pete and the Narnians made camp on the south side of Mt. Pire. And the next day, they set out for Anvard, capital of Archenland.

* * *

Ten days later, after an easy march through a fair country of sparse woodlands and rolling fields, the rebels came at last to Anvard. A delegation of elves had ridden out from the palace to meet them, and they stood waiting on the open plains before the city. Tall and graceful they were, like slender and beautiful humans, but with gently pointed ears. Some were fair, and others were dark, but all were lovely in face and noble in mien. "Okay," whispered Pete to himself. "Definitely not the Keebler variety."

An armed officer came forward and called out, "Hail, Lord Peter and the Rebel Alliance from Narnia. I am Rashiel, Captain of Anvard. I have been sent to escort you to the house of our queen, the Lady Taraiel. You are all most welcome in Archenland."

A cheer of applause rang out among the rebels. They had passed through frost, stone, and death to come at last into the elf-kingdom, and now they were here. They were welcome, and they were safe. And if all went well, the rebels would soon have a powerful ally. At long last, freedom for Narnia seemed within reach.


	15. Chapter 15

WHILE the Narnian soldiers were moved into quarters all over Anvard Town, Pete and his closest companions were invited to stay in the palace proper. "Palace" was certainly a better word to use than "castle," for it was indeed a great mansion built to house royalty, but hardly a fortified structure. As the small party approached the gates, following the escort of Captain Rashiel, even Pete marveled at how sparse the elves' defenses seemed to be. The main villa was an open and airy contrivance of columns and domes, decorated everywhere with metalwork and filigree, all finely wrought to resemble leaves and vines. A hedge-wall separated the mansion from the town, and between the wall and the house itself was a veritable expanse of well-tended garden. The villa in the center of all this contained an open courtyard within, and here a throne sat beneath the open sky. It was in this lovely place that Pete and the others first beheld the Lady Taraiel, Queen of Archenland.

Fair she was, and beautiful, with ringlets of chestnut-colored hair that cascaded down her white shoulders. She wore a low-cut gown of crystal blue that depended from her arms and bust, and the fabric shimmered in the sunlight. The queen's eyes were of this same blue, and they peered intently at Pete—scrutinizing, boring through to his very soul. "We bid thee welcome, Peter, Son of Adam. And to you, his friends, greetings as well. We are Taraiel, Queen of Elves."

Pete was actually struck speechless. The queen's formal dialect, her stately bearing, and her transcendent beauty were enough to render the human dumb. Simply put, she was the most unbelievably attractive woman that Pete had ever laid eyes on. He was smitten in that instant, and the fact was not lost on his friends. Lumpkin and Phineas exchanged knowing smirks. Cynthia felt her cheeks grow hot, and she looked away, not daring to cast her eyes on either Pete or the elf-queen.

Queen Taraiel smiled at Pete and rose from the throne. She strode across the short span between them and held a hand out to the human. He took the hand and kissed it, hoping to God that this was in line with courtly manners, and not some criminal _faux pas_. "My Lady," said Pete.

"There now," said Taraiel. "Now that the formalities are out of the way, let us converse like ordinary people. I know who you are, Peter Pevensie, for Aslan came in person to announce your arrival, and this was only a short time ago. I have not met your companions, though."

At the mention of Aslan appearing in person, the eyes of the Narnians widened, and Penelope and Phineas gasped aloud. Pete then realized that he hadn't mentioned his meeting with Aslan to his friends, and apparently, neither had Cynthia or Falon. It had seemed like a personal matter, something between only the three of them and the yellow wizard with a laugh like a lion's roar. Nevertheless, Pete composed himself and went around the room, introducing each of his companions in turn: Lumpkin, Penelope, Phineas, Cytnhia, and finally Falon.

When Pete came to this last individual, Taraiel narrowed her eyes at the half-breed and said, "Sir, I sense that you are partly of elvish blood. Is this not so?"

Falon cast his eyes down to the floor and said softly, "It is so. I get it from my mother's side. But it wars constantly with the blood of my father, who was a hobgoblin, and a very cruel man. My two natures do not mingle well. It often drives me mad."

Taraiel placed a gentle hand on Falon's chin and drew him up to look her in the eyes. "Be at peace, child of Archenland. You are in your mother's homeland now, and far from the reach of hobgoblin hands. Tell me, if you would, what was your mother's name?"

"Aravaniel, my Lady."

The queen gave a cry of surprise. Her skin, already fair, turned sheet-white. Then she spoke, slowly and nearly whispering: "That was _my_ mother's name. Nearly fifty years ago, Queen Aravaniel rode to battle in the Red Mountains, at the head of a column of cavalry, and she was reported slain by goblin-folk. As my father was dead, and I had no brothers or sisters, I became queen in her place."

Falon stared dumbly at Taraiel, trying to process all that she had said. "My mother told me many stories of Archenland when I was a boy. But she never talked about her family. She never spoke of other children, or of royalty."

"Nevertheless, Falon, I do believe that _you_ are our royal brother," said Taraiel with tears forming in her eyes. All around, Pete and his companions reacted with shock. They stared at Falon, who gripped his sides uncomfortably and looked as if he wished to disappear. The elf-queen turned to Pete and said, "Thank you. Thank you for finding him and bringing him here."

Pete finally found his voice, though it was thick with emotion. "Thank Cynthia, Your Majesty. She's the one who busted us out of Count Serpens's dungeon."

The Queen favored Cynthia with a nod and smile. The nymph smiled back and bowed her head, though it galled her to do so. "I had to rescue Lord Peter," she said. "Finding Falon was… a fortunate coincidence."

The Queen returned her attention to Pete. She wiped the tears away with the back of her wrist and steadied her voice. "Lord Peter, you say that you were imprisoned by Count Serpens?"

"Yeah. Why, have you heard of him?"

"Yes indeed. The Black Knight of Narnia, Champion of Queen Jadis. He has many lairs under the surface of that country, from the Lantern Wastes to the Western Woods to the Red Mountains. But he makes Cair Paravel his especial home."

" _What?_ " cried Pete. "I thought… I thought that was where the White Witch lived!"

"No," interjected Captain Penelope. "The White Witch has a palace of ice in the far north of Narnia. Cair Paravel is a ruin, abandoned and haunted."

"Haunted by the Black Knight and his cursed legions," said Taraiel. "And the High King's Throne rests within."

"You're telling me," said Pete, his voice a fearful stutter, "that-that-that the place I've got to go, the place we're trying to get to, **is Count Serpens's favorite vacation spot?** I don't believe this…"

Penelope looked at Pete sympathetically and rested a hand on his arm. "My Lord, I know—"

"No," said Peter, "you _don't_ know. That bastard had me locked up for a week. He _tortured_ me. I'm just lucky that Cynthia pulled a jailbreak when she did, 'cause any longer down there, and I'd be in the same shape as Falon here."

"It's true," said Falon, nodding vigorously. "I'm completely insane now, but before Serpens got me, I was only a little bit wrong in the head. Well, maybe a lot wrong…"

Taraiel gave Falon a pained look, the kind of expression one only sees on those who empathize with their suffering loved ones. "Nevertheless," she said, addressing everybody, "Cair Paravel is your destination. You must sit upon the High King's Throne to break Jadis's curse. And though it brings great risk to Archenland, we will help you in any way that we can. Archenland hereby joins your Rebel Alliance."

* * *

In the days and weeks that followed, the Narnians prepared for war. Pete continued his training with Penelope and Phineas, learning the sword and the bow and the art of commanding an army in battle. This time, he had a further advantage: the help of the elves, who were wise in all crafts. Most of the time, the elves went about their lives peacefully, participating in all the ordinary trades and professions necessary to support a nation. But the elves were a long-lived and ageless people, and none of them kept one job for very long at a time. Variety kept their endless lives interesting. And so most of the elves were learned as soldiers, and some were clever generals as well. Between these sometime commanders and the great library in Anvard, Pete studied and learned all that he could.

He also garnered something about the lands and peoples surrounding Narnia. The elves of Archenland, it seemed, were known as the Children of Air, and they were one of five great Peoples mentioned in the hand-written texts of the elvish library. The other races were the dwarves, Children of Earth and native to Narnia; the jinn, Children of Fire, who populated the deserts of Calormen; and the merrows, Children of Water, who lived in the Eastern Ocean and ruled a kingdom from the Lone Isles. The fifth and final race, greater than the other four, were human beings, Children of Adam and Eve. Very little was said about humans in the histories that Pete read, except that they once ruled Narnia and all the other surrounding kingdoms, once upon a time, so very long ago that history had almost forgotten it. As for the other thinking and speaking peoples of this world, Pete learned, they were classified as spirits, or as beasts, or as monsters—and they were all held to be lesser than the Five Peoples. Nymphs like Cynthia were spirits, as were the river-gods, and the sprites, and all other fairies. Fauns and centaurs were held to be beasts, and they were grouped with the talking animals. All other creatures, from giants and goblins to gremlins and harpies, were called monsters and enemies.

The elvish writers confirmed what Cynthia had once told Pete: that this hierarchy of races had come down from Aslan's father, the Emperor-over-the-Sea, and that it was an immutable fact of nature. Pete couldn't help but think, though, that it was divisive and wrong. He remembered meeting Phineas for the first time, and how the faun had spoken of the divisions in Narnia that kept its many peoples from uniting against the White Witch. Pete had had no idea how deeply the separation ran. And he began to wonder how long the Alliance could hold.

* * *

One day, more than a month after the rebels' arrival in Anvard, Cynthia spotted Pete walking in the palace gardens. Boldly, she approached and stopped him. "My Lord," she said, "I wish to apologize to you. I believe that I was a bit… forward… with you before. When I freed you from the Count's dungeons, you'll remember. And I'm sorry for having offended you."

Cynthia's cold tone and blunt words had their desired effect: Pete felt like an ungrateful schmuck. But the fact remained that he wasn't in love with Cynthia, and he probably never would be. It was the sort of thing that he just _knew_. "Look, kid…" Pete winced at his own stupidity and corrected himself. "I mean, Cynthia. Whatever _that_ was, I wasn't offended—just surprised. I'm sorry that I don't… I mean, I don't feel for—"

"I understand," said the nymph, her voice choked and raspy. "You don't feel anything for me. And I won't trouble you any further." She moved to brush past the human, but he stopped her.

"Wait," said Peter. "I'm really sorry. I am! But… it's for the best, right? I mean, you're going to live _forever_ , but I'm only human. I'll be dead in another forty years or so, if not way sooner than that."

"I wonder," said Cynthia, "if such practicality will keep you from pursuing Queen Taraiel?"

Pete frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really? Everybody else does." Red-eyed and puffy-cheeked, the nymph once again tried to leave.

"Hey, Cynthia," said Pete, "one more thing."

"What?"

"Have you seen Phineas lately?"

"No," said the nymph, shaking her head. "Why do you ask me this?"

"Oh, uh… no reason. Just hoped you'd know where he is."

"I'm sorry," said Cynthia. "So very sorry to have bothered you." And then she left.

* * *

Time passed, and the longer Pete spent in Anvard, the more he found himself drawn—inexorably, and against all common sense or good judgment—to the company of Queen Taraiel. They would often walk together in the courtyard, and they spoke of many things. The Queen would talk of ruling Archenland, matters of politics and grand import, for these were the matters that consumed her life. Pete didn't mind. He treated it as another opportunity, a chance to learn from a ruler who seemed to be doing a really good job of it. And he talked as well, of his life back in New York, of his family, of growing up in Brooklyn, of his onetime occupation as a detective. He talked about his parents, his brother and sisters, his old girlfriends. In short, Pete and Taraiel—or "Tara," as he came to call her—got to know each other in record time.

And eventually, even Pete came to realize that he was falling for her. Which was problematic, for reasons that he was already all too familiar with: his own lifespan was human and finite, whereas the Queen's was elven and eternal.

"Your Majesty," he said one day, as they sat together under an ash-tree in the courtyard, "…Tara. I can't thank you enough for letting us stay here. This place… is incredible. And it's the first time I've felt peace—true peace—since I came into Narnia. But Aslan said that my road would carry me farther east, into Calormen and beyond, and I'm thinking… I'm thinking that it might be time to move on."

Tara nodded solemnly and replied, "I agree. You have rested here long enough, and you have recovered somewhat from your ordeal underneath Mount Pire. I can't begin to imagine what you were put through, Pete, but if I've been able to help you in any way, I'm glad for it."

"You _have_ helped," said Pete. "Hanging out with you is better than therapy. And without the hourly charge."

"I, too, enjoy the 'hanging out' we share," said Tara. "But now that you mean to leave, what will you do?"

"Head east, like Aslan said," answered Peter. "Of course… I don't know too much about the Calormene Empire. Only what I could read in your library. It wasn't as much as I'd hoped."

"Then you'll probably need a guide," said Tara.

"Probably," said Pete.

"I've been to Calormen more than once," said the elf. "That settles it. I'm going with you."

"Huh?" Pete looked at Tara, who smiled wickedly. She had just talked him into a corner, leaving the human none the wiser! Pete grinned back. It wasn't often that he was bested with words. "If you come along with us, who'll rule Archenland while you're gone?"

"I can place a steward on the throne to rule in my stead. Face it, human: whether you like it or not, I'm going."

Pete didn't have to say anything. He liked it.


	16. Chapter 16

A council of war convened the next day in the courtyard of Anvard Palace. Taraiel and a number of elvish nobles took seats in court, while Peter, Lumpkin, and Penelope were seated to represent the rebels. "Aslan is on the move," announced Queen Taraiel. "He has gone forth into Narnia, alone, to gather all those that oppose the White Witch, the False Queen Jadis. Until now, we of Archenland have done nothing to provoke Jadis's wrath. She tolerates no opposition, no affront, and no suggestion of the truth: that she is a usurper, and an evil spirit in mortal guise. But the time for caution is over. Soon, wide war will come to all the kingdoms, and the Four Peoples will have to unite behind the Fifth—human—if we are to cast down this evil."

"No," said Pete, standing up. Whispers rippled through the elven court, but the human ignored them and spoke up. "Not just the Four or the Five. Elves and dwarves and whoever else, sure. But we'll need _everybody_. Everybody who cares about the future of this world, who wants a better life for all the people who live here—and when I say 'people,' I don't just mean a few of the races. _Everybody._ "

Pete stared icily at each of the courtiers in turn. None spoke, but Tara smiled with approval. "It seems that no one here would disagree with thy sentiment, Lord Peter. That brings us, therefore, to the first matter at hand: our neighbors to the east. The Calormene Empire is an ally of Jadis, but only in trade and commerce."

"Makes sense," offered Peter. "If the Witch keeps Narnia in winter all the time, food's got to come from somewhere. But what does she trade to the Calormenes?"

"Narnian slaves," said Penelope. "They are the only 'commodity' that Jadis possesses and the Calormenes value."

"Son of a bitch," swore Pete, shaking his head.

"The fact remains," said Taraiel, "that Calormen and Narnia have neither a defense treaty, nor any sort of military alliance. They could be persuaded to our cause."

Lumpkin now rose and addressed the council. "The Calormenes are known to be fanatically loyal to their emperor, the Tisroc. But it will not be enough to convince the Tisroc alone. If he shows any sign of weakness, one of the Tarkaans—the noblemen—might plot to seize power for himself. In fact, it's almost certain that our arrival in Calormen will present many of the Tarkaans with just such an opportunity."

"Byzantine politics," grumbled Pete. "Okay. Is there some way we could turn that to our advantage? Back a friendly Tarkin?"

" _Tarkaan_ ," corrected Lumpkin. "I don't suppose there's any way to tell, until we go there and see for ourselves."

"Which brings us to the second matter," said Taraiel, rising from the throne. "The Narnian rebels require a guide through Calormene territory, and we have offered to lead them ourselves."

Pete smiled at Tara's use of the royal "we" in courtly speech, and at the horror painted on the faces of the other elves. "And _we_ graciously accept Your Majesty's generous offer," answered Pete.

Penelope shot the human a sidelong glance and frowned. She had a really bad feeling about this idea…

"Our mission will be aided by stealth and swiftness," said the Queen. "Therefore, only a few of us can resolve to undertake it. In the meanwhile, your soldiers can remain safely in Anvard. When the time comes, this town can be the base from which we strike out at Jadis."

"All right," said Pete, "so you're in, and obviously so am I—"

"And us," said Lumpkin, pointing to himself and Penelope. "You wouldn't leave either of us behind, would you?"

"Course not," said Pete. "And we'll also want… uh… has anybody seen Finny or the hippie-chick?"

"What are you on about?" asked Penelope.

Lumpkin cleared his throat. "Erm. I believe he means to ask us of the whereabouts of Marchwarden Phineas and the Lady Cynthia."

"Then why don't you just say so?" said Penelope to Pete.

"Sorry. Force of habit again. So, anybody know where they are?"

* * *

Half a mile or so outside of the town, Cynthia walked alone through a small grove of oaks and ashes. It calmed her nerves and raised her spirits to once again be among living, blooming trees. They were like family to her. And right now, she needed to be with family.

Leaves crunched behind her. The nymph gave a started cry and whirled about. Her eyes fell upon Phineas.

The faun appeared embarrassed. "Forgive me, Lady. I'm not normally so… careless… as to make noise when I walk in the woods."

"Where did you come from?" she asked.

"The palace. I had wished to be alone in a forest for a while, but now that I've run into you—"

"I also wish to be alone," said the nymph quickly.

"Very well then," said Phineas. "I shan't disturb you any longer." The faun was pained by Cynthia's words, but he turned to leave her in peace.

"Wait," she said. "Have you seen Lord Peter recently?"

Still facing away from Cynthia, Phineas closed his eyes tightly and fought to keep his voice even. "Very little of him, I am afraid. He spends all of his time in the company of Her Majesty."

"I had noticed," scoffed Cynthia. She tilted her head to one side and regarded the faun curiously. "I kissed him," she said. "When we escaped from Mount Pire."

"Indeed?" said Phineas through gritted teeth.

"Yes. And do know what he told me? He said that his lifespan was so short, and mine so long, that nothing could ever happen between us. So tell me, Marchwarden, why does he now spend all of his time with an elf-maid, and one yet young for her kind?"

"Perhaps," said the faun, "you and Lord Peter were simply never meant to be."

"Perhaps," said Cynthia.

She sounded so crestfallen that Phineas couldn't take it anymore. If she wanted to stay out here and pine alone, that was her business and none of his. He began to walk away.

"I'm not a young dryad, you know," she called out after him.

Phineas stopped and turned to face her. "I know."

Cynthia examined the faun's face: his curly black hair, his short beard, his gray eyes, his tiny horns. He was rather handsome, for a faun. And male fauns had long been the favored companions of dryads. "I have fewer than three-hundred years, perhaps only two-hundred, before this stage of my life comes to an end," she admitted.

Phineas was started by such a revelation. So soon? Cynthia really must have been at least one millennium old, then. "And then you will transform, and you will become one of the hamadryads," said the faun. "The talking trees."

"Yes," said Cynthia, tears rimming her eyes. "I had thought… that I would finally come to know love before my time came. And now... now, I don't know…"

Phineas coughed uncomfortably. "A lot can happen in two-hundred years. Can't it?"

Cynthia laughed through her tears and nodded. "Yes," she said, giggling between choked breaths. "Yes it can."

* * *

One week later, all the preparations were done. They had mounts and supplies. Queen Taraiel placed Captain Rashiel on the throne as her steward, and he vowed to rule with wisdom and defend Archenland with his very life. Now a Fellowship of Six stood waiting at the gates of Anvard, saying their goodbyes.

Pete, Phineas, and Cynthia sat astride three of the small, sleek horses bred by the elves. Lumpkin was mounted also, the dwarf on the back of a stout pony. Penelope obviously needed no mount, but proportionally speaking, she looked rather like a dwarf atop a pony!

Only Queen Taraiel had yet to mount a steed. She stood before her lately discovered half-brother, Falon, exchanging a tearful goodbye. "Are you certain you won't come with us?" she asked.

"I mustn't," said the hybrid. "No. No, not a good idea. I mustn't. I think more clearly here. I used to wander the goblin-caves, and now I can wander the open paths of Archenland. And besides, I think more clearly here."

Taraiel nodded and embraced Falon. "Then wander where you will, my brother, and may peace find your troubled mind at last."

Then the elf-queen put her foot to the stirrup and leapt gracefully into the saddle of her gray-dappled mare. "Let us be off," she said to the others.

"You heard the lady," said Pete, snapping the reins. "Yah!" A born New Yorker, Pete might have been a city-slicker through and through, but time in Anvard had taught him many new skills, horseback riding among them. Taraiel rode alongside Pete, and behind them, Phineas and Cynthia rode side-by-side. The faun gave the nymph an encouraging smile, and she smiled back with no trace of her earlier bitterness. Behind them, Lumpkin spurred his pony, and Penelope kept pace at an easy trot. The centauress carried a flagpole with the banners of Archenland and Narnia, and as the Six Companions rode away, crowds of elves on either side of the road raised a cheer for their Queen and for the rebel leaders.

They were off on the road to Calormen.

Pete called over his shoulder, to Phineas, "Hey, I've seen this movie too! I'm the funny one, so I get to be Bob Hope. If you can sing, you can be Bing Crosby."

Taraiel looked sideways at Pete. "I frequently fail to understand you, human."

"To use a human saying," said Cynthia from behind her, "that puts us… 'all in the same boat.' Am I right, Lord Peter?"

"You sure are, kiddo," said the human. Spurring his horse to a gallop, he shouted, "Hi-ho, Silver! _Away!_ " and dashed ahead of his companions down the road.


	17. Chapter 17

FAR to the south of Anvard, five riders and one centaur made camp on the semi-arid borderlands between Archenland and Calormen. As the night deepened, Pete laid back and watched the stars come out in the clear night sky—the unfamiliar stars of this strange world, and all the constellations that Pete knew nothing about. When at last he drifted off to sleep, the stars faded, and the sky overhead changed into something else: a dome of rock, so high overhead that its nooks and crevices were lost in inky shadow. Low moans echoed throughout the cavern, and Pete knew the sound all too well: zombies. Count Serpens's undead guards. The human tried to move, but he couldn't. He looked down at himself and saw that he was chained to a horizontal slab of stone, something like an altar.

"You thought that you could essscape," said a familiar voice, "but you'll never be free of me. You were in my power once, and now you are mine forever!"

Pete finally managed to turn his head. Count Serpens stood at hand, his eyes blood-red and hungry. "Bite me," sneered Pete.

The vampire hissed and revealed his fangs. "If you insssist."

* * *

"Lord Peter!"

Pete gave a yell and started awake. Penelope was shaking him, trying to rouse him from sleep. Pete looked around and felt relief set in. He was back outside, in the dusty brushlands on the edge of Archen territory. Around the embers of last night's campfire, the other travelers slept soundly on heavy blankets. Penelope had been assigned the first watch. "Wha… what is it?" asked Pete.

"You were talking in your sleep, my Lord. Then you screamed."

Pete looked down at his forearms. He was sweating bullets. Then, on a whim, he reached up and felt his neck. "Hey, do you see anything here? Any marks or scars?"

"No, of course not," said Penelope. "Nothing. Why do you ask?"

"Uh, no reason. Just a nightmare, I guess."

Penelope adjusted the bulk of her hindquarters so that she could sit more comfortably next to Pete. "Why don't you tell me about it? You're the one who always insists on talking about everything."

Pete shook his head. "It was… something about Count Serpens. But, what he did to me, I can't… I would if I could, but I don't remember everything. Just bits and pieces…"

"Perhaps that's for the best," said Penelope. "Sometimes we don't want to remember the truly terrible things."

Pete sat up and peered at Penelope. There was no moon tonight, and the dying embers cast only a weak orange glow, but he could see that the centaur-woman was hugging her arms to her sides.

"You sound like you know from experience," said Pete. "Maybe… you're the one who needs to talk right now?"

Penelope replied, a little too quickly, "Don't let it concern you. You have enough of a burden, my Lord, without my—"

"Aw, for crying out… why is everyone still so stuck on the formality?" Pete interrupted. "Haven't we been through enough thrilling, chilling excitement together that you can just call me 'Pete?' Maybe as a personal favor to me?"

"As you wish… Peter."

He sighed. "Close enough. Now, spill. Better out than in, I always say."

Pete waited patiently. Nearly a full minute passed before Penelope answered. "Cyrus," she said. That one name meant a lot to both of them.

"You miss him," said Pete. Penelope only nodded. Another uncomfortable silence passed. Then Pete asked, "Were you two… close? As in, more than friends?"

"You are asking whether Cyrus and I were lovers?"

"Uh, well… I didn't exactly use that word. Lovers. But…"

"No," said Penelope. "We could have been, but I never took the chance." She smiled ruefully, thinking back. "Cyrus wanted us to become something more. He once asked me to run away from the garrison with him. Defect from the Narnian army and return to our homeland. But I couldn't…"

"Why not?"

Penelope swallowed. "I could never go back and face my family… not after… not after the things I'd done in the service of Queen Jadis. Do not forget, Peter, that I was a soldier for our Enemy. My actions—"

"Don't mean a damned thing to me," said Pete. "But if you ever want to get something off your chest—"

"I _do_ hope that doesn't mean what it sounds like!"

"Huh? Oh. No, it's just… it means that if you've ever got something you want to talk about, whatever it is, I'm here to listen."

"Oh. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. It's what friends are for." Pete then stood up and stretched. "No way I'm getting back to sleep anytime soon. Why don't you go turn in? I'd rather stay up and take the next watch."

"All right," said Penelope, rising to leave. "Good night, my Lo—Peter."

"Good night, Cap'n Penny."

Penelope looked at Pete questioningly. Then she just shook her head and smiled. _Humans._

* * *

Over the next several days, the six companions entered and trekked across the great Desert of Calormen, the stretch of sandy wasteland that separated the vast empire of the south from both Archenland and Narnia. They made straight for Tashbaan, the capital of the empire, a great city on the banks of the Calormene River and still in the roughly northernmost part of the country. Calormen was vast, larger than Narnia and Archenland put together, with a patchwork of provinces and tributary states that reached as far south and west as the edge of the continent. Thankfully, the Narnians would only have to travel a short distance into Calormen, comparatively speaking, in order to cross the desert and reach the capital.

The route chosen by Taraiel was a well-traveled road, frequented by traders' caravans and lone merchants alike. Unfortunately, that also meant that bandits and robbers were apt to ply their trade along this road. The danger was small to such a small party, since they obviously carried few goods of any value; but if a band of thieves were especially desperate, the six of them would make relatively easy pickings. It was a necessary risk to take if they wanted to reach Tashbaan as quickly as possible.

At a large and lush oasis in the desert, where date palms grew around a sparkling blue pond, the travelers encountered a caravan from the city of Azim Balda which was on its way to Tashbaan as well. The caravan master, a rotund and bearded man in a garish blue robe and turban, rode out from his camp with an armed escort to meet the Narnians. Now Pete got his first good look at some of the jinn, the people of Calormen. They looked somewhat similar to human beings, but they were a bit taller and heavier of build, with skin that ranged in color from bronze to red. Their ears had long points, more exaggerated than those of elves or nymphs, and the men all seemed to keep their beards and moustaches intricately combed and curled. They wore shoes with curled tips, and the soldiers had white robes and scimitars. These, then, were the Sons of Fire, another of the Greater Peoples of this world.

"Well met," said the caravan master. "I am Zal Ibin, trader from Azim Balda. Who might you be, O strangers from the north?"

Pete tugged on the reins of his steed and drew to the fore of the group. "My name is Peter Pevensie. These are my friends," he said, introducing each in turn. "Tara, Phineas, Cynthia, Lumpkin, and Penelope. We're on our way to the capital."

"Ah, yes," said Ibin, "but why? You are not merchants, and Tashbaan is not known to be friendly to barbarian visitors."

"We're just… simple travelers," said Pete. "We want to tour the world, see the sights, and I heard that Tashbaan was a heck of a place to vacation."

Ibin laughed deeply and said, "It is indeed the most remarkable city in the world! The Tisroc (may he live forever) would not live there if it were anything less than the seat of all that is wonderful and glorious in the eyes of the gods. For as the poet says, 'the city of the Tisroc is to the world as the sun is to the day, and the moon to the night.'"

"Yeah, and what happens in Tashbaan stays in Tashbaan," said Pete. "Or so I heard. So, anyway, since we're all heading in the same direction…"

"Yes, yes," chuckled Ibin. "You may ride with our group. Greater safety in greater numbers, eh? And, strange though all of you look, I deem that you are warriors of some experience, yes?"

"You could say that," said Pete.

"Then the arrangement is to our mutual benefit, and supremely practical!" said Ibin. "'There is no higher virtue than the practical decision,' as the saying goes."

Pete nodded. "And, as Groucho Marx once said, 'Time flies like an arrow, but fruit flies like a banana.'" The human looked around and saw strange looks on the faces of all the present company, his friends included. "What? Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'When in Calormen, do as the Calormenes do?' …Or something?"

Zal Ibin grinned appreciatively and said, "I like you, Master Pevensie! You are unusually well-spoken for a barbarian!"

"Yes, but which end is he speaking out of?" snarked Phineas. "If your Lordship will permit me to say so."

Pete turned to Phineas and whispered, "My Lordship _does_ permit it. _I_ , on the other hand, will meet you in the parking lot after class if you don't keep this 'Lord' business quiet while we're on the road!"

Behind them, Zal Ibin listened carefully and raised a curious eyebrow at the human's words.

* * *

Zal Ibin's caravan brought the travelers closer to Tashbaan with each day. The jinn were a polite and obliging people, but they were not overly warm to the newcomers. Only Ibin treated the northerners as friends, and even then, he did little to disguise the disdain that all the Calormenes seemed to have for "barbarians" from other lands. Nevertheless, the six companions got along well enough with their hosts to make the journey tolerable, and the caravan's well-armed escort proved enough of a deterrent to thwart any would-be highway robbers.

Until, that is, they were yet three days' ride from Tashbaan.

At midday, with the sun high overhead and beating down on the hot yellow sands, the caravan scouts spotted a rider in black on the road ahead. The sand dunes gave way to rocky crags, and the man in black sat atop a Calormene steed, waiting beneath the shadow of a high overhang. Beyond, the rock faces narrowed to form a canyon, cliffs rising up on either side of the road. It was an obvious bottleneck.

Pete and Tara rode together at the head of the column, along with Master Ibin. Pete said, "This… does not look good."

"No indeed," said Ibin. The jinni reined in his horse and came to a stop. Behind him, the rest of the caravan slowly followed suit, each person, animal, and cart rolling to a halt in turn. Ibin scanned the horizon and said, "If there are thieves ahead, they have chosen an excellent point of ambush. We cannot scale the rocks. There is no other road to take us around the canyon."

Tara looked into the sky and squinted at the boiling sun. "There will be no waiting them out. We cannot remain here for very long."

Ibin nodded and said, "In that case, gods help us, our only choice is to make a fight of it and clear the way for the carts and the pack-camels." The caravan master drew forth the great tulwar that he kept tied to a sash around his waist. "Now, my friends, I must ask you to render your services as warriors. We have traveled together; now let us do honorable battle together!"

Behind Ibin, the caravan guards either drew scimitars and raised them into the air, or they pulled long-shafted arrows from quivers tied to their horses' saddles and nocked them to bowstrings.

The rest of the Narnians now caught up to the front of the caravan. "What's happened?" asked Lumpkin. "A blockage on the road?"

"Something like that," said Pete. In the canyon ahead, the lone rider had discreetly become two dozen mounted brigands.

"In that case," said the dwarf, "let us be swift in clearing a path!" To emphasize the point, he took up a short-bow of elven make that he had received from Tara as a gift in Anvard. Phineas and Cynthia also armed themselves with their bows, while Penelope freed her twin sabres from their sheaths. Tara swept aside her cape and withdrew an elven rapier, long-bladed but light and straight. Pete had lost his sabre under Mt. Pire, but he had been given a blade like Tara's in the elf-kingdom, and he drew it now. It was a basket-hilted broadsword, heftier than a rapier and made from finely folded steel that glinted like silver in the desert sun.

Pete had learned something of swordplay in the past several weeks, but right now, facing the prospect of putting those untested skills to use, he didn't relish the thought. "What I wouldn't give right now for an SG 550 and a few mags of 5.56," he griped. Tara was about to ask, and so Pete just explained. "It's… like a bow and arrow, only more kickass."

"Here they come," said Ibin, and indeed, the riders now poured out of the canyon and onto the road. "I suppose they grew tired of waiting for us."

A battle-yell came from the bandits, and the black-clad jinn on horseback loosed a volley of arrows. The caravan guards returned fire, as did the Narnians. Cynthia and Phineas were the best marksmen of the lot, and Lumpkin was no amateur either. More than once did the Narnians' shots find their mark, such that only fifteen of the bandits crashed into the line of guards with scimitars flashing.

It didn't make sense to Pete. Why would thieves throw themselves at a well-armed defense, if the purpose was to make off with loot? "They're assassins," he said to himself. "They're not thieves, they're assassins!" Spurring his horse and pointing his sword, Pete charged.

"Wait… Peter!" Tara cried. She urged her mount to follow closely behind, her own blade ready.

Then, they were in the thick of it. All around, the mêlée surged, jinn in white and black cloaks exchanging blows, scimitars ringing against each other. Zal Ibin swung his great tulwar and gave as good as he got, felling one of the attackers with a slice to the throat. Then his horse was swept out from under him, and Pete never saw what happened to Ibin after that.

"Peter!" shouted Penelope. The centauress tried to cut her way through the confusion, to get next to Pete and Tara and protect them if she could.

And then an arrow pierced the shoulder of Pete's horse, and he was sent flying. A little dazed, and spitting out a mouthful of sand, he rolled over and tried to stand. His sword had flown clear; it sat two feet away. And then a shadow fell across Pete's vision… when one of the bandits appeared, standing over the human with a scimitar raised high.

The sword came down and kicked up sand. Pete rolled and grabbed for his sword. His hands found the hilt and he brought the weapon up just in time to block another strike.

"Die, by Tash!" screamed the killer. "Die!"

Pete crawled backwards on his hands and knees and tried to rise. His attacker was no novice, though, and he pressed his advantage, never letting the human recover from his supine position. Then the bandit pulled back his weapon to strike again… and it was blocked by another straight elven blade.

Tara, on foot, stood between Pete and the bandit. Riposting off of her block, she swiped and thrust, but the assassin parried. Then the two were locked in a furious duel, elf and jinni exchanging wicked strikes, meeting each blow for blow with a metallic ring or a scrape and a spark.

Pete could only stare in awe. Tara was masterful. It was like watching an Olympic fencer at work, but for the wild anger in the elf-queen's eyes. And seconds later, with a twist of her blade, the jinni was disarmed and run through. He collapsed to the ground, holding the wound in his belly, until his eyes rolled back and he felt no more.

Around them, the attack swiftly fell apart, as the last of the black-clad jinn were slain. None survived to flee the scene. Or to answer questions, much to Pete's disappointment.

Zal Ibin appeared, one arm held over a minor cut on his upper arm. "These were not thieves," he said. "Thieves are not so brave, or so reckless. Hired killers, I wager."

"My assessment as well," said Tara.

"The two of you," said Ibin, "are valuable personages, yes? You, Lady, carry yourself like a queen… and you, 'Your Lordship,' are… I don't know what you are, but I can tell that you travel incognito for some secret purpose."

"And we'd like to keep it secret," said Pete.

"I have lost good men today," said Ibin. "I would like to know why."

"When we reach Tashbaan," offered Tara. "Then you will know all."

Zal Ibin nodded. "As you wish, Lady." But he clearly didn't like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you were wondering, "jinn" is a proper plural. "Jinni" is the singular form, and though it didn't come up in this chapter, the feminine singular would be "jinnyah." "Jinnyah" would therefore be what Calormene women are called in this fun little Alternate Universe, where no other humans besides Pete inhabit the Narnian world. You might be wondering, why have I done this? Where are the humans of Calormene, of Archenland, of Telmar? Well, frankly, it was always a little pet peeve of mine that humans were so darned rare in _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ that they had to be **imported from England** in order to defeat the White Whitch... and then, all of the sudden, the later books say that there were Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve living in countries and islands near Narnia all along. _**What?**_ Why didn't four Archenlanders come to Cair Paravel and sit on the thrones? This story clears up that little ambiguity by making the Archenlanders and Calormens and Islanders all humanlike, but clearly not human. And I think it's more fun that way, but your mileage may vary, of course.


	18. Chapter 18

THE city of Tashbaan really was an incredible place. In fact, it was the first proper city that Pete had seen in this world. (Pete really didn't know what to call the world, now that they were so far from Narnia, but nobody had ever named it for him. So for now, it was just "This World.") The buildings were tall and brightly decorated, and there seemed to be a palace or a mansion on every city block. Rows of mud-brick houses lined the streets, but these were hung with silks and ribbons. The streets themselves seemed to house a constant bazaar, with throngs of people walking to and from the marketplaces. Traders peddled goods both local and exotic, and the swirl of sights, sounds, and smells was overwhelming to the Narnians, who were used to a quieter, more pastoral pace of life.

To Pete, it felt like coming home.

Granted, everywhere he looked, he saw the fiery-orange skin of the jinn, and unlike the New York he knew, everybody seemed to go out of their way to demonstrate politeness and deference. Peasants made way for merchants and artisans, and these were always quick to clear a path for a Tarkaan. But the busy flow of a real city was something that Pete could appreciate, and for a moment it made him feel especially alive. Not three days ago, he had been in yet another fight to the death, and he had escaped only by the seat of his pants (and the quickness of Tara's blade). Right now, though, all that was forgotten. He looked every which way, taking in everything that he could, with a grin on his face that stretched from ear to ear.

"Tashbaan impresses you," said Zal Ibin. The caravan master was preparing to take his leave of the travelers. Already, the guards and the merchants were ambling into the city, making for the marketplace.

"It's… not so different from my home," said Pete.

"Ah," nodded the jinni. "Three days back, you made a promise to reveal your identities to me. I would consider it a sign of trust and friendship."

Pete gave a nod, and Tara spoke: "We honor that promise, good Master Ibin. I am, in fact, Taraiel of Archenland…"

Ibin's eyes widened. "Your Majesty!" he exclaimed, sweeping into a low bow.

"…And this," she continued, "is Lord Peter of New York, a descendant of Adam and Eve."

Ibin looked at Pete with wonder. "A human? Then… the legends are true! You return to claim rule over the northlands, and cast down the Frozen Queen?"

"That's the plan," said Pete. "Whether we can pull it off… we'll see."

Ibin smiled jovially and took Pete in a tight embrace, much to the human's surprise. "Not all Calormenes think kindly of the Barbarian Witch," he said, "but some do. Thus do I warn you, my friends: the Tisroc (may he live forever) is one of these. He calls Jadis friend and ally. If you mean to meet with him, you must tread carefully and choose your words with the wisdom of the poets."

Then Zal Ibin clasped Pete's hands in a fierce handshake, bowed once again before Queen Taraiel, and made his departure.

* * *

"You know they didn't really exist, right?" said Pete. He and his five comrades rode together through the streets of Tashbaan, Pete on a new horse acquired from Zal Ibin.

"Who didn't exist?" asked Tara.

"Adam and Eve. They're not real. Never were."

"Oh?" smiled the elf. "Then who _were_ the first parents of your race?"

Pete just shook his head. "It doesn't work that way. I don't know if I could explain it without DNA and ecology and a bunch of other stuff that won't make any sense to you, but… humans _evolved_. We descended from an earlier, more primitive species. Evolution… it happens so slowly that there's no real way to draw a line between an ancestor species and its descendants. And since it works on whole populations' gene pools, not individuals, there can't _possibly_ have been a first human man or woman. So Adam and Eve could not have existed as real people, at least not on Earth. They're a myth. A story."

"If that's true, then where did your 'primitive ancestors' come from?" asked Tara.

"From even more primitive animals," said Pete. "All the way back to beginning, maybe three or four _billion_ years ago. Where I come from, _every_ living thing is related to every other living thing. Just the way it is."

"Humans… really believe this?" asked Phineas. He and the others were all curious to learn more of Pete's beliefs, and they listened intently.

"It's not a matter of belief, it's proven fact," said Pete with a sour note in his voice. "But… yeah, most do."

"If it's all the same to you, Lord Peter, I think we shall continue to speak of you as a Son of Adam," said Lumpkin. "'Son of Primitive Ancestors' doesn't have quite the same ring to it."

"No," laughed Pete. "No, it doesn't. But… ah, never mind. I'll… buy you guys a subscription to _Scientific American_ at the next magazine stand we run into."

* * *

At last, they came to the palace of the Tisroc. This structure was, in a word, gigantic. It dominated the skyline of Tashbaan, a massive and fortified building of brick and marble, with great spires and minarets and huge domed towers. Ivory, ebony, silver, and gold decorated every wall and statue, while rubies and emeralds were set into ostentatious mosaics and bas-reliefs. Silken banners and velvet draperies lined every hallway. And people were everywhere, slaves who tended the palace and waited on the Tisroc and his visiting Tarkaans and Tarkeenas. Most of these slaves were Calormenes, but more than a few were Narnians of various races.

When word reached the Calormene emperor's ears that Queen Taraiel of Archenland had arrived for a visit, the travelers were at once admitted into the great throne room of the Tisroc, a chamber as lavishly decorated as any in the palace. Tisroc Ardeeb III sat upon a throne of ivory and gold, attended by a court of Tarkaans, advisors, ministers, priests, mathematicians, astrologers, philosophers, and poets. The emperor of the jinn was singularly tall, and powerful of build in a way that reminded Pete of professional wrestlers. Clearly, this man was a warrior as well as a monarch, and he was not to be taken lightly.

"Your Serene and Imperial Majesty," said Taraiel in greeting. She bowed low before the Tisroc, and the others followed her action as best they were able. (Penelope could only bow at the waist so far.) Pete bowed with the others, but he kept his eyes up and fixed on the Tisroc.

"We grant you welcome, Queen of Elves," said Ardeeb, "though we remain curious as to the purpose of your arrival, and of your coming unannounced. Once before, we asked for your hand in marriage, but you refused to become our wife and Tisruka. Have you changed your mind, Your Royal Majesty?" Coming from the Tisroc, even the world "royal" managed to sound condescending, simply because it wasn't "imperial."

Pete looked sidelong at Tara, and the elf's features hardened. "On that matter, my answer remains the same as before," she said sternly. "Among my people, it isn't customary for husbands to take more than one wife."

"Ah, but I have no wives," countered Ardeeb. "Many concubines, but they are all of common blood. None but you, beautiful Taraiel, would be fit to become my Tisruka—my empress."

Pete cleared his throat and fought to recall the courtly manners that he had learned from the elves of Anvard. "With respect, Majesty, that isn't why we've come. This meeting is business, not pleasure."

The Tisroc trained his keen gaze on Pete. "Ah. The Son of Adam brings us straight to the point. Word _has_ reached our ears that a human, Peter by name, does seek to supplant Jadis of Narnia, and to replace her as the rightful High King of that land. Do we speak falsely?"

"Of course not," said Pete, hiding well his surprise at the Tisroc's prescience. "I'm Peter Pevensie, and I _do_ mean to take Jadis off the throne of Narnia."

"And you want our reassurance that Calormen will not intervene to aid the Frozen Queen in keeping her stolen throne," continued the Tisroc. It was statement he gave, not question.

Pete narrowed his eyes at the jinni emperor, trying to guess at what game he was playing. "That's it exactly," he said.

The Tisroc smiled like a tiger about to pounce. "Then tell us, pray, how Calormen is advantaged by honoring your supplication. Right now, we are pleased with the arrangement between Jadis and Our August Selves. Will a Narnia under High King Peter be an even better friend to Calormen?"

"Your Majesty," said Peter, "Jadis doesn't have any real friends. She only cares about power, and if she doesn't plan on taking over Calormen right now, it's only because she doesn't think she'll win yet. Or because Archenland, or Galma and the Isles would be easier to take down first. But eventually, she'll turn the tables and make herself an enemy."

"Do you mean to suggest that Narnia is so strong, and Calormen so weak, that the Kingdom might someday conquer the Empire?"

"No, Your Majesty. I just mean that Jadis is very long-lived, and from what I've seen, very patient. The longer she stays on the throne, the more dangerous she will become. Does the phrase, 'playing with fire' mean anything to you?"

"My people the Sons and Daughters of Fire itself," said Ardeeb, "though we of the Tarkaan class, including the Tisroc, know that our other parent is the war-god, Tash. If the Frozen Queen were ever so foolish as to bring war to the Empire, we would melt her, and then she would burn in the fires of battle!"

Pete sucked in a breath and buried his building anger. "Then look at it this way," he said through gritted teeth. "A frozen Narnia isn't any good to anybody. Right now, you guys trade food to Narnia, and they send back slaves, right?"

"Yes indeed," said Ardeeb. "A very beneficial arrangement, if we do say so ourselves."

"Okay, then. Don't your people have another saying? That 'the highest virtue is the practical decision?' Because if we can thaw Narnia and free her people, we'll be buying more than food, and selling…" Pete swallowed, "things that aren't slaves. Both of our nations could prosper. And I," he added, speaking more forcefully, "I am _not_ fond of war. Can you really say the same about Jadis?"

The Tisroc threw his head back and laughed. All at once, the nobles and courtiers arranged behind the throne imitated their emperor, tittering politely. "Oh, well-spoken, Peter! All you humans really _do_ have a way with words!"

"Yeah, we… wait, what do mean by 'all you humans?'"

"Oh. Didn't I mention it?" said the Tisroc, obviously feigning a memory-lapse. "There is another human in Tashbaan. A Daughter of Eve. She is a guest in our very palace."

Pete's jaw dropped. He could literally feel his heart sinking in his chest, like a lead weight plummeting into his stomach. The visitors from Narnia were equally shocked, mostly wondering whether it could be true, or if it might be some sort of trick.

"Another… of your kind?" whispered Taraiel to Pete. Her voice was more than uneasy—it was downright fearful.

He whispered back, "I… I've got to know. I have to see for myself." To the Tirsoc, he said, "Your Majesty, might I… meet this other human?"

"In good time," replied Ardeeb. "Until then, you are all my guests as well. All the delights and entertainments of Tashbaan shall be at your disposal for as long as you should remain with us. Slaves shall be called to show you to your rooms. At four bells, we shall dine together and discuss matters further." With a sweeping gesture of one arm, the Tisroc finished his decree. And in Calormen, the word of the Tisroc (may he live forever) was law.


	19. Chapter 19

THE Tisroc had summoned a dozen jinn to show the members of the Narnian party to their accommodations. One by one, they were ushered to their rooms, suites so luxurious that they truly defied description. The beds alone in each massive chamber were so large that even Penelope could rest comfortably on one without fear of breaking through or falling off, though when Lumpkin saw his own, he remarked that he might become lost in the sheer vastness of it! Phineas was the next to be quartered, and Pete grinned to himself when he saw Cynthia looking up and down the hallway here, carefully committing this location to memory. _Well, all's well that ends well,_ thought Pete.

Each time one of the Narnians was dropped off, two of the jinn would remain behind to help the new guest settle in. Soon enough, Pete and Tara were alone, with only a quartet of jinn remaining in their escort. "Have you noticed?" commented Pete. "All the servants are Calormenes."

"They aren't servants; they're slaves," corrected Tara.

"I know," said Pete. "I'm… trying not to think about that part right now." The human watched the faces of the four jinn. They didn't react to anything: they said nothing, and their expressions remained constantly neutral. "Point is, not a Narnian in the bunch."

"The Tisroc is obviously a man of tremendous foresight."

"Yeah, well, I guess you'd know. Tara, you never mentioned that the two of you had already met, never mind that he popped the question once!"

"It was a long time ago." The elf didn't seem to want to talk about it any further, so Pete let the matter drop when she changed the subject: "Peter, I fear that you were too bold with His Majesty. Were we not warned to speak carefully in the Tisroc's presence?"

"Yeah. But he ticked me off. And besides, he was holding all the cards. I figured, the only way to make him lay his hand on the table was to call every bet." Pete stopped walking and took Tara by the hand to keep her close. The four slaves also stopped, and they kept a respectful distance ahead, though not quite out of earshot. "I wanted to know what we were dealing with: an ally, an enemy, or Switzerland."

The elf-queen tilted her head curiously (Pete _loved_ it when she did that) and said, "And what did you perceive, Peter? Friend, foe, or switter… swizzer… or a neutral party?"

"I can't be sure," said Pete, "but right now, I'd say all signs point to cheese, chocolate, and cuckoo clocks." Pete grinned and shook his head at the confused elf-maiden. "You know, Tara, I'm a detective. It's my job to size people up and guess at what they're thinking. To read all the clues and put together the evidence. The Tisroc… he's cake. Push the right buttons, and he'll wear his heart on his sleeve. You, on the other hand…"

" _Me?_ " said Tara, so surprised that a grin broke out on her face to match Pete's. "What about me?"

"After all this time, I still can't figure you out," said Pete.

Tara snorted. " _You_ can't understand _me_? You, who habitually speaks in riddles? Who refers to a lore more arcane than the Deep Magic?" The elf crossed her arms and waited for Pete to explain himself, though the good-natured smile never left her face.

"I just wish I knew what _we_ were. _Are_. Us."

"Close your eyes," said Tara.

"What?"

"I'm trying to be serious, you ridiculous human!" laughed Tara. "Just close them!"

Pete did as he was asked, and suddenly he felt Tara's lips touch his. It was a surprise, to be sure, but nothing like the time that Cynthia had kissed him. That… that had been somewhere between frenzied lust and a confused schoolgirl crush. But this… this felt like _passion_. This felt _right_. And Pete almost forgot that they were in a random hallway in the Tisroc's palace, and that they had four Calormene spectators.

Tara broke the kiss and whispered, "Well? Did you get your wish?"

"That's one smokin'-hot birthday candle I'm _never_ blowing out."

Tara giggled. "I hope that's human-speak for 'yes.'"

"Oh yeah," nodded Pete. "Message received and understood." Turning to the jinn, he said, "Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking: 'those two should get a room.' Well, that's your job, so lead on, Hadji!" To the other three, he nodded in turn, "Johnny… Race… Bandit."

The silent servants all looked perplexed for a moment, but then they must have decided that the strange human's words weren't important, because they turned down the hall and carried out their charge, leading Tara and Pete to their rooms.

* * *

The gong sounded four times, a flatly metallic sound that echoed through the palace halls. Pete followed one of the jinn into the grand banquet hall and found that he was fashionably late: the rest of his friends were already seated at the table. Tara sat at the left hand of the Tisroc, followed by an empty spot for Pete, and then Penelope, Lumpkin, Phineas, and Cynthia. Most of the rest of the seats on both sides of the table were filled by noble jinn—by Tarkaans and Tarkeenas—with one notable exception. This was the seat just to the _right_ of the Tisroc, across the table from Tara. Here sat a raven-haired woman in high-class Calormene dress—soft blue silks that formed a halter and baggy pantaloons, embroidered with tiny gemstones and bits of gold, and a tiara of silver that rested on her brow—but she had none of the features of the jinnyah, the female jinn. Nor did she resemble an elf, or a nymph. Her ears were round, and her skin was tanned, but without the uncannily red-orange hue of the fiery Calormenes. Pete stared, open-mouthed. She looked human!

Pete took his seat at the table. Tisroc Ardeeb half smiled, half sneered. "Lord Peter has seen fit to join us. Welcome, and if it please you, eat your fill!" Sweeping his arm across the table, the Tisroc indicated a spread of exotic foods in bewildering variety. Many of these looked more than appetizing: roasted fowls, cakes and confections, and blows of citrons and other fruits that Pete could never hope to identify. But for every dish that made Pete's mouth water, there was another that made his stomach turn. On the other side of the table, two seats down from the human woman who had so absorbed Pete's attention, a jinnyah Tarkeena was cutting a shell-covered tentacle off of some kind of… squid-crab… thing.

"I swear to God," said the mysterious woman, "if somebody pulls a _Temple of Doom_ moment and starts eating eyeballs, I'm totally gonna hurl."

Almost reflexively, Pete mumbled, "You're thinking of _Octopussy._ In _Temple of Doom,_ the eyeball was in the soup. It was a Bond villain who actually ate one on-camera."

Now the woman noticed Pete for the first time, and her eyes went as wide as saucers. "Oh my _God!_ It's _true!_ You… you're _human!_ Like, American even!"

"Land of the free and home of the brave," said Pete, flashing a lopsided grin. "I'm Pete Pevensie." He wanted to reach across the table to shake the woman's hand, but the distance was simply too great. So, he settled for a friendly wave. "Hi."

"Hi. I'm Jillian Greene," said the woman, "from Atlantic City. Call me Jill."

Pete rolled his eyes and mockingly groaned. "Oh, that's just _great_! Freaking wonderful!"

Tara had been watching the both of them very carefully this whole time. She picked up on Pete's sarcasm and said, "I don't understand, Peter. After all this time, aren't you pleased to meet one of your own kind?"

"Normally I would be," joked Pete, "but she's from _New Jersey!_ They don't even have a baseball team."

"Very funny, Brooklyn, but _yours_ got sold to L.A.!" laughed Jill. "Now all you've got are the Mets and the Yankees, and the one kind of cancels the other out."

Pete chuckled. "How did you guess that I was from Brooklyn?"

"The accent is kind of a giveaway," said Jill. "So, Pete… what do you do? I mean, what _did_ you do, back home?"

"I was a cop," said Pete. "A Detective Investigator, for the NYPD. What about you?"

"Software engineer," said Jill, casually popping a slice of some pear-like fruit into her mouth. "Mostly database programming. Some consulting work."

Pete threw his head back and laughed aloud. "Seriously? You're… a computer geek?" Frankly, to Pete's way of thinking, Miss Jillian Greene of Atlantic City looked far too athletic and well-tanned to be a computer _anything_.

"Hey, that's _professional_ computer geek," she shot back. "I did pretty well for myself. Back home, I mean."

Pete sighed. "Yeah. So… how did you wind up here?"

"In Calormen? Jeez, it's freaky, isn't it? I was in my Aunt Polly's attic, looking through some old stuff, and I came across this weird panting. It was a picture of, like, a desert… with some Arabian kid riding on a horse, or something. And then, I don't know, I was _in_ the painting, and I found myself here. In Tashbaan. It was like something straight out of _Alice in Wonderland_. Or _Wizard of Oz_!" Jill blew a heavy sigh and then asked, "What about you, Brooklyn? What's your story?"

"Some old guy whacked himself with sleeping pills. My car was in the area, so I got called to the scene. I was poking around the attic, and there was this… wardrobe. I fell through the back of it and found myself in Narnia."

Jill's eyes widened. "I've seen that on a map! It's… way, way north of here! You can't tell me you _walked_ all the way from there to here!"

"Can and did," said Pete. "What about you? You haven't left Tashbaan since you got here?"

"Nope," said Jill. She indicated the Tisroc and smiled at him. "His Imperial Majesty over here was nice enough to give me a place to stay, until I figured out what to do with myself. That was three weeks ago. I'm still not sure what I'm gonna do."

"My original offer still stands," interjected the Tisroc. "You are welcome to become one of my women and live out your days in the plenty and comfort of my seraglio."

Jill put her tongue through her teeth and made a funny face. "Uh… no. Thanks, but that's just not how we do things back in the United States."

"Come with us, then," said Pete. It was a spur-of-the-moment offer, and one that sent ripples of shock through the Narnian party.

"Oh, please do take her," said the Tarkeena seated across from Lumpkin. "The sooner this odd little creature leaves the sight of our beloved Tisroc (may he live forever), the sooner the rest of us can get on with our business. Namely, convincing His August and Imperial Majesty to choose a proper Tisruka."

"You are too forward, my dear Lasaraleen," said the Tarkaan interposed between the jinnyah and Jillian. "If His Majesty wishes to make a concubine of this lovely Daughter of Eve, that is business between her and His Majesty."

"Hold on!" said Jill. "Nobody is making a concubine of anyone, not while I'm here! Listen, Pete, was it? Tell me what your plans are, and maybe I'll tag along."

"Peter, are you sure that this is wise?" asked Taraiel. "Our path is a dangerous one, and all may not be quite as it seems!"

Pete nodded to Tara and then turned to Jill. "Okay," he said. "If you're really on the level, answer me this: what's forty-two?"

Jill narrowed her eyes at Pete. "What's forty-two? You mean, apart from six times seven?"

Pete nodded.

Jill grinned wickedly and said, "Only the answer to life, the universe, and everything!"

Pete turned to Tara and pronounced, "She's human. She can definitely come with us!"

"Look," said Jill to Taraiel. "I can see that you don't exactly trust me. Maybe it's because of whatever you've got with Petey-boy here. That part's kind of obvious. But whatever it is, I don't care. I just want to figure out how to get out of here, and get back home to Planet Earth. If that means coming with you, then great. If not, I'll take my chances in Tashbaan."

"Wait," said Pete. "You don't exactly know what you'd be getting into with us. You see, we've kind of got a job to do first…" And so Pete recounted to Jill the story of his coming into Narnia, of the White Witch and her curse of endless winter, and of the throne in Cair Paravel. He also spoke of his adventures, of his encounters with the villainous Count Serpens, and of his coming at last into Archenland and Calormen. All the dinner guests listened intently to Pete's story, and even Tisroc Ardeeb seemed enraptured by the tale.

When it was all through, Jill looked pale and a little scared. Laughing through her fear, she said, "Well, look at it this way, Pete: with two humans, that's two chances to break the curse, right? If one of us gets tackled, the other can still dive for the end zone."

"But are you sure that a Daughter of Eve could break the curse as well as a Son of Adam?" asked the Tisroc. "All the legends and prophecies that I have heard foretell that a High King will claim the throne, not a High Queen."

"The prophecy is clear enough," said Lumpkin. "A Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve will free Narnia from the witch. King or Queen, it does not matter."

"In that case," said Jill, "may the best human win. But," she added with a shiver, "all the freaky-deaky stuff you've been through! Giants? Goblins? Vampires! I'm not sure I can do what you've done, Pete!"

"Yeah," said Pete quietly. "It's… a real kick in the nads."

"Yes it is," agreed Penelope. "Especially Count Serpens. He gives me the craps."

All eyes trained on the centauress, but Pete and Jill were especially taken aback. Jill's jaw dropped, and Pete said, "Excuse me?"

Penelope looked at everybody and flushed with embarrassment. "What? 'The craps.' It's human-language. I've heard you say it before, Lord Peter, when you are… scared… or nervous?"

Jillian put her hand over her mouth and stared guffawing shamelessly. Then Pete realized Penelope's mistake and slapped his forehead. "Oh! 'The creeps!' Count Serpens gives you _the creeps_ , Penny. The cra—uh, the other thing, that means something different…"

"Oh, I don't know," giggled Jill. "What she said still works. It's just a little out of context."

At that moment, the Tisroc cleared his throat. "What a fascinating coincidence that you should bring up the subject," he said. "It just so happens that a very special guest is arriving momentarily—one who could not join us precisely on time, because he had to wait for sunset."

Pete looked to the Tisroc and searched his face. The jinni emperor was radiating all the smug satisfaction of a chess-player who saw checkmate in three moves. "What are you talking about?" said Pete.

Then the doors to the banquet hall burst open, and into the room strode the Black Knight of Narnia—the Champion of Jadis—the vampire, Count Serpens. He removed his iron helm and bowed stiffly in the direction of the Tisroc. "Your Imperial Majesty, my Royal Mistress sssends you her greetings. Ssshe wished for me to convey her hope that our alliance is by no means on the wane, and that a clossse relationship between Jadis of Narnia and Ardeeb of Calormen will continue, to your everlasssting benefit. She also asssks that you will sssurrender the traitor known as Peter Pevensie, and all his insssurgent companionsss, into my cussstody at once."

The emperor didn't get a chance to reply. The Narnians quickly leapt to their feet, and Pete joined them. "You just can't leave me alone, can you, you parseltongued bastard? For the last time, you only get to take me _over my dead body_!"

Count Serpens smiled. "We shall sssee."


	20. Chapter 20

"YOU'RE not even a recurring villain anymore!" ranted Pete. "Now you're officially my arch-nemesis! Christ, why did I have to wind up with a nemesis who talks like Voldemort and not James Earl Jones?" Pete lunged for one of the table-knives.

All at once, chaos erupted in the banquet hall. Armed guards rushed in and surrounded the Tisroc, drawing their scimitars and forming a defensive wall. Taraiel and the Narnians followed Pete's example and armed themselves with flatware, their weapons having been taken from them when they first entered the palace. As for Jillian Greene, she shrieked and dove underneath the table, along with the majority of the Tarkeenas. The Tarkaans, by and large, continued to watch in horrified surprise.

Count Serpens's upper lip curled into an irate sneer. The vampire drew his heavy iron sword and stalked calmly toward Pete.

"Enough!" came the commanding voice of the Tisroc. "Cease this madness, _at once_! Serpens, stay your blade! And you of Narnia, disarm yourselves this instant or be removed to the dungeons! Do we make ourselves clear?" Fire flashed in the emperor's eyes, and even Count Serpens had to hesitate. Ardeeb continued, "We shall say this only once: no guest in our imperial house will be harmed or molested in any way, unless it is by _our_ command! Lord Peter, Queen Taraiel: you tread on shifting sands and may lose your footing at any moment. You would do well to walk more cautiously! And you, Count Serpens, should remember that you are but a guest in a place where the Tisroc's word is the only law! Jadis is not yet so powerful that she can give orders to a Son of Tash!"

"My most sssincere apologies, Augussst Majesty," oozed Serpens, sheathing his sword and bowing low. "The missive I bring from Queen Jadis was but an humble requessst, of course."

"And we will think carefully before we decide whether to honor it," said the Tirsoc. "Until such time, know this: Lord Peter and all his company are the beneficiaries of our generous hospitality, which places them under imperial protection. Now, all of you, _**be seated!**_ "

As quickly as the scene had escalated, so too was it diffused. Once again, all was calm, and Pete and his companions indeed put down their knives and implements. Jill and all of the jinnyah noblewomen retook their places. Count Serpens crossed the room and seated himself at the foot of the table, opposite the Tisroc. Pete and Serpens stared daggers at each other. If looks could kill, both the human and the vampire would already have burst into flames. Then Jill squeaked, "Hey Pete, is that really _him_?"

Serpens's gaze snapped over to Jill, and he smiled. "Oh my, but thisss is an unexpected development: a Daughter of Eve, in Tashbaan of all placesss. I do hope, my dear, that Tirsoc Ardeeb has been naught but a gentleman in your presence." Before anybody could reply to this uncouth remark, Serpens turned his attention to the Tisroc and said, "Your Majesty, my journey has been long, and sssome refreshment would be appreciated. But as you know, this _food_ you eat cannot sssustain me."

"Of course," said the Tisroc in a deadpan. "We have anticipated your… special needs. Appropriate measures have been taken." The Tisroc made a miniscule gesture, and a jinni entered the room, bearing a tray laden with goblets. The slave set the goblets before Count Serpens and then bowed and quietly excused himself.

Count Serpens took up one of the cups. It was filled with a bright red liquid. All watched in silence as he sipped it noisily, draining the vessel completely. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "Narnian… Red Dwarf, unless I am mistaken… two-hundred and… forty- _four_ years of age." Serpens narrowed his gaze at Lumpkin and said, "An _excellent_ year for dwarf."

That was it. Lumpkin was so enraged that he could only fume and spit without forming words, but Pete slammed his hands on the table. "You sick, twisted son of a—"

Only, now Count Serpens was staring at Pete, looking him directly in the eyes. And he was whispering something to himself, repeating something, like an incantation or a spell. Slowly, Pete felt reality slipping away. His vision became fuzzy, and sounds echoed as if distant. He heard his friends cry out. He heard Cynthia shouting, _"Oh no! What's happening to him?"_ And he heard Count Serpens's smooth pronouncement, _"What a pity. The human ssseems to be feeling faint. It must be… the sssight of blood."_ And then Pete blacked out.

* * *

Pete dreamed that he was being chased through the tunnels beneath Mount Pire. There was a snake behind him—an enormous snake that wanted to sink its fangs into Pete. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was there. He heard it, calling out to him, taunting him.

Pete screamed and woke up. He was in a bed. It was the large guest-chamber that the Tisroc had given him. Pete was underneath silken sheets and a blanket of down and velvet. And there were faces overhead: Taraiel, Penelope, Phineas. He sat up. Lumpkin and Cynthia were in the room too, conversing in low tones. And Jillian stood a ways off, watching curiously. Pete felt something cold on his forehead: Taraiel had applied a wet cloth. "What happened?" he asked.

"You… fainted," said Tara. "We brought you to your room. Count Serpens is still at dinner, talking with the Tisroc."

Jill came closer and looked Pete over. "Jesus, Brooklyn, you're white as a sheet. What happened back there?"

"Don't know," said Pete. "Serpens… did something… had to be him." Then Pete's eyes went wide. He _saw_ Count Serpens, behind Jill, creeping up, baring his fangs, reaching out… Pete pointed and let out a yell. "It's him!"

Jill, Tara, and all the others spun around, but there was nothing there. The image vanished from Pete's sight as well.

"There's nobody here but us," said Penelope. "Are you feeling all right now, Lord Peter?"

"I saw him," said Pete. "And what did I tell you guys about calling me a lord?"

"Force of habit," smiled Penelope.

"He must be hallucinating," said Phineas.

"I'm all right!" yelled Pete, sitting up in the bed. His head swam, but he shook it off and swung his legs over the bedside. He looked up at each of his friends in turn. Their eyes met his, and Pete saw the same thing in every one of them: pity. Concern. "I'm not crazy," said Pete.

"Nobody said that you were," said Phineas. "But you're obviously not well. Something has made you ill, my Lord. You should rest."

"Not a chance," said Pete. "Not with the Son of Dracula in the same building as me. We've got to put a stop to this."

"What do you mean?" asked Jill.

"We've got to kill Count Serpens," said Pete. "Now, while he's here in the palace."

"Are you suggesting… assassination?" asked Tara.

"It's not assassination if he's already dead," said Pete.

"What of the Tisroc?" asked Phineas. "He was very clear on the matter of violence among his guests: the consequences will be harsh."

"We can cross that bridge when we come to it," said Pete. "If we don't do this now, he'll just keep coming after me. I just can't take it anymore. So… first off, we need weapons. Swords and bows won't do much of anything to a vampire. And we can't count on cutting his head off or staking him through the heart. Not while he wears that black armor. So our only option is fire. Burn him up, and it's bye-bye bad guy." He looked up at Taraiel and said, "You've been here before. Does the palace have some kind of chemist or apothecary?"

Tara thought for a moment. "Yes… yes, I believe it does."

"Good. Go there. You need to get me some… sulfur. Carbon. Potassium nitrate. The purest you can find." When Pete saw the elf's blank look, he explained to her, "Brimstone. Charcoal. Saltpeter. That's what I need."

Jillian shook her head at Pete. "You're going to make a _bomb_? You're crazy!"

"Good," said Pete again, "you know what I'm looking for. You go with Tara. Help her out. Penny!"

The centauress came forward. "Yes, Peter?"

"You go too. Keep the girls safe. You… won't be able to fight Serpens if he decides to come after you, so if it happens… just run. Get them away."

Penelope shook her head. "I should stay. It's you that he wants. If he decides to come after anybody, it will be—"

"I'll be fine," said Pete. "Hey Lumpkin, Cynthia!" The dwarf and the nymph looked over at Pete, who said, "If I wanted to find some garlic, you guys think you could help me out?"

"There was garlic in some of the food," said Lumpkin. "I'm quite sure of it. We could look in the palace kitchens."

"Great. You guys go do that. Anybody know anything about cooking?"

Cynthia smiled and raised her hand. "I know—"

"Yeah, yeah," said Pete. "You know a little bit of everything. Okay. If you find the garlic, turn it into a paste or a sauce or something. Anything that I can put in a bottle and throw."

Jillian laughed at that and said, " _Weaponized_ garlic? I like the way you think, Detective!"

Pete grinned. "That's about everything. Oh, wait, something else: Lumpkin, give me your knife."

"My knife, Lord Peter?" asked the dwarf. "The Tisroc ordered us all disarmed when we first arrived in Tashbaan."

"Lumpkin…"

The dwarf sighed and smiled. "Very well," he said, reaching into his boot and handing a spare blade to Pete.

Pete took the knife and said to everybody, "Count Serpens is a vampire. He has the strength of ten men, weird magic powers, and the knowledge of centuries—"

"So do some of _us_ , unless you've already forgotten," said Cynthia.

"Just the same," said Pete, "don't even try to fight him until we're all together and all ready to take him on." He nodded to all of his friends, and then the two groups left: Tara, Jill, and Penelope to go find the apothecary, and Lumpkin and Cynthia to the kitchens.

When Pete was alone with Phineas, the faun asked, "Is there anything you require of me, my friend?"

"Yeah," said Pete. "That table over there. Is it made of wood?"

"I believe so," said Phineas. "Why?"

"Help me smash it," said Pete. "I need some pieces."

"But… what you said before was correct. While Count Serpens wears his armor, wooden stakes won't avail us."

"Never mind that," said Pete, "just give me a hand."

A short while later, one of the Tisroc's decorative tables was in pieces. Pete selected a large piece from the top plank and went to work with Lumpkin's knife, whittling it into a particular shape. When it began to look more and more like a lower-case "t," Phineas grew curious and asked, "What is that for?"

"It's a crucifix," said Pete. "A cross. A holy symbol. They're supposed to repel vampires." The human grinned and said, "I figure, if vampires are real, why stop there? Just maybe, the Big Guy Upstairs has our backs on this one."

* * *

Lumpkin and Cynthia were the last to return to Pete's room. When they arrived, they found Pete and Jill carefully measuring quantities of black, white, and yellow powders, pouring them into small clay flasks in more or less equal proportions. Phineas and Taraiel were winding strips of cloth around wooden table-legs in order to make torches. Penelope watched these operations with some interest, until the dwarf and the nymph arrived.

"You have the garlic?" asked the centauress.

"Right here," said Cynthia, holding up several bottles. "Extract of garlic, as requested."

"Groovy," said Pete. "I'm almost finished here…" A short while later, he was the proud owner of half-a-dozen brand-new incendiary bombs. "There are seven of us, and one of him," said Pete. "None of us can take him alone, but two groups will find him faster than if we all stick together. How much time do we have before sunup?"

"Not more than five hours," said Phineas.

"You heard the faun," said Pete. "Five hours to track down the Count and light him up. Penny, Tara, you're with me. Finny, Jill, you're with Lumpkin and Cynthia. It's time to make like Buffy and the Belmonts. We're gonna slay us a vampire."


	21. Chapter 21

"THIS is insane," said Jill. "I'm no Buffy Summers, and Pete's not exactly Dr. Van Helsing. How can he just decide, 'hey, why don't we all go slay a vampire tonight?'"

The foursome crept through the dark and deserted halls of the Tisroc's palace. Lumpkin and Phineas led the way, while Cynthia and Jillian followed closely behind. The faun held a torch; each of the others carried one of Pete's firebombs; and they were all armed with a flask of the garlic-juice, just in case.

"Clearly," said Cynthia, "one of you is destined to rule Narnia, and the other is not. I wonder which?"

"Are you calling me a coward?" snapped Jill.

"'If the shoe fits,' to use a human phrase," retorted the nymph.

Phineas smiled to himself. Cynthia had become entirely too proficient at "speaking human."

* * *

Pete, Taraiel, and Penelope moved quickly through the hallways, occasionally ducking out of the way when a servant or a guardsman passed by. In cases like these, Penelope was something of a hindrance, since her hooves made a distinct clopping noise on the marble floors. But in the dead of night, walking among the heavily decorated and furnished passages of the Tisroc's palace, hiding-places were in generous supply. Even if they were bound to be heard, it wasn't likely that they should ever be seen.

Deeper and deeper they went into the mazelike interior of the castle, the minutes ticking by and drawing into hours. Pete began to fear that they were wasting their time.

"This is pointless," said Penelope. "Serpens could be anywhere in the castle, and we would never know."

"We could ask," suggested Taraiel. "Somebody must have seen where he went after the banquet."

"All right," said Pete. "We'll head back to the dining room and see if anybody stuck around. If not, we'll have to bag us one of the servants and... you know, 'ask real nicely.'"

* * *

Taraiel had the best sense of the palace's layout, and eventually she was able to lead them back to the dining hall. It was late enough by now that all was dark and empty. Not a soul awaited them in the great, high-vaulted chamber—only a bare table, and deep shadow in every corner of the room.

"Here, Serpy, Serpy, Serpy," sang Pete. He dog-whistled and strode into the room, torch and makeshift grenade at the ready. "Here, boy... Come and get your num-nums…"

Taraiel followed closely behind. "Are you sure that's wise? Letting him know that we're coming?"

"I seriously doubt we could sneak up on a creature like Serpens," said Penelope.

"Oh, how right you are, Milady Knight," said a voice from the shadows. Ahead, the very darkness of the banquet hall itself seemed to shift and coalesce, taking on the shape of a man. A man in black armor. Count Serpens. "Have you all come looking for _me_? How marvelousss. I had ssso desired to… ssspeak with all of you. Essspecially you, Peter."

Pete replied, "Sure, if you're done twirling your moustache like a card-carrying Legion of Doom member…" He was about to light the small bomb with his torch, when he heard the sound of hooves beating on hard stone. A suit of decorative armor was situated nearby, with a long spear in its gauntleted grip. Penelope had pulled this weapon free, and now she was charging the vampire with the polearm leveled like a lance! "Penelope, get out of the way!" shouted Pete.

But the centauress acknowledged the human's words not at all. She dashed straight for Serpens like a lancer in a jousting tourney, and the vampire hissed and drew his over-heavy sword. With a sidestep and a parry, the iron blade _clanged_ into the haft of Penelope's bronze spear. "Who do you think you are, little mare, to challenge the likesss of me?" said Serpens.

Penelope's hooves skidded on the smooth floor as she spun about to charge again. "I am Penelope of Beruna," she said. "I am a knight of Narnia, and a captain of knights! And _you_ are nothing but a dead man!"

"True," said Serpens, "but you cannot ssslay the dead!"

Penelope howled and charged, waving the spearhead out in front of herself. Once again, Serpens dodged aside with unnatural grace. This time, though, his blade did not strike the spear. This time, he aimed for Penelope's unprotected head. The flat of the blade struck her skull, and with a sickening _thwack,_ the centauress fell to the ground. Her own momentum caused her to skid across the floor, carrying her some distance past the Count.

The two exchanges had been so brief that Pete and Tara had barely had time to react. When Penelope fell at last, both the human and the elf called out her name in dismay. "Hey Serpens," shouted Pete. "I've got a present for ya!" He held up one of his clay-shelled bombs and touched his torch to the cloth strip that served as its fuse. The cloth was soaked with oil and took to flame instantly. "You like dodging bullets? Dodge this!" Pete aimed the flaming missile in such a way that it would land before the vampire without going anywhere near Penelope.

Count Serpens saw the bomb coming, and he was no fool. "Stupid mortal!" he hissed. "Your tricksss…" But then, the explosive went off, and a fireball easily five feet across erupted in the middle of the room. Serpens leapt away and somehow _melted_ into the shadows. He _vanished_ , as if the substance of the shadow itself were the surface of a pool, and he had just dived under the water.

"What happened?" cried Taraiel.

Pete echoed the sentiment. "What the crap?" Then he saw Penelope lying unconscious on the floor, a trickle of red running down her temple. "Oh no."

Pete and Tara rushed over to the centauress's unmoving form. Her lungs were still heaving with breath, and when Pete reached down to feel her pulse, it confirmed that she was alive. "But she might have a concussion after a blow like that," pointed out Pete. "We have to wake her up!"

"I know a little something of the healer's art," said Tara. "We should—" And then the elf screamed with surprise, for two strong and pale hands gripped her roughly by the shoulders and held her fast.

"Clever human," snarled Count Serpens, for it was indeed the vampire—he had reappeared behind Taraiel, and now he held her with all his unholy might. "Your blasting fire might very well have destroyed me after all! But be aware, Peter, that I shall brook no more close calls from you and yours!" Serpens's voice was no longer a suave hiss. Now it took on the low rumble of some bestial growl.

Taraiel was held fast and paralyzed with fright. Wise and ageless though the elf-queen was, the vampire was a fiend of power and cruelty, and his fangs hovered eagerly over Tara's white neck. "P-P-Peter," she stammered, "take it," and she tried to throw her own unlit bomb to the human.

Count Serpens saw this and wrenched her arm viciously. The elf cried out in pain, and the clay object fell to the floor and shattered. The powdery contents scattered and became worthless. "None of that," said Serpens. "But if the horse-maid carries another such flask, please, tell me how you mean to use it without also burning this… lovely… frightened… Daughter of Air."

"Tara!" said Pete. Penelope did indeed have the last grenade, and it seemed unharmed by her fall. But Pete could never bring himself to do such a thing. "Let her go, you monster! It's me you want, not her!"

"Why, Peter. No clever jest? No quip at my expense?" Serpens bared his fags and gripped Tara around the throat.

"Do it," choked Tara. "K… kill him!"

Count Serpens sniffed deeply and sighed, almost with pleasure. "Yessss… Peter… you _feel_ for this one. You… _love_ her." He fixed his eyes on the human and said, "You don't dare risk any harm to your beautiful queen."

Pete, though, didn't see very many options. Slowly, he circled around, and retrieved the bomb from Penelope's side. "How are we gonna play this, Serpens? What can I do, to make you let her go? _What do you_ _ **want**_ _?_ "

"I want _you_ , Peter!" said Serpens. He cackled with glee and exclaimed, "Don't you know? Can't you feel it in your blood? _You were in my power once, and now you'll never be free of me. Soon, you will be mine!_ "

"What are you talking about?" shouted Pete.

Serpens said, "In my fortress beneath Mount Pire, dear Peter… _**I bit you.**_ You and I are bound by blood. I am poison to your very life! And, sooner or later, you will give in to the sickness. You will waste away, Peter, and eventually, you will die. And when that happens, then… then you will rise again, as my obedient servant! A willing squire to the Champion of Jadis!"

The truth struck Pete like a thunderbolt. His heart sank. A wave of nausea slammed into his guts, and he felt like throwing up. Serpens… a vampire… had bitten him… "Can't be," said Pete. "There were no marks… _there were no marks!_ "

"Concealed by my will," hissed Serpens. "It is a very simple spell. A mere obfuscation. Here… I dismiss it with a word."

And suddenly, Pete felt two sharp pains lance through his neck. He reached up and felt the scars—two puncture wounds that had never quite healed. Wounds he had unknowingly borne since Mount Pire.

"You bastard," growled Pete.

"Peter," said Tara again. She had been forced to listen to this whole conversation with Serpens's hand clamped around her throat. She barely had breath enough to speak.

"Ah, yes," said the vampire. "Taraiel. Your reason for living on through this waking nightmare of a world. Well, let's take care of that then, shall we?"

Time slowed down for Peter. He dropped the bomb—that wouldn't help to save Tara's life. He dropped his torch as well. He reached for the things that would ward Serpens off—the phial of garlic, the hand-carved crucifix that he had made but a few short hours ago. But the vampire was a fiend of great dexterity, and he already had Tara by the throat. With an animalistic snarl, he sank his teeth into the elf-maid's neck… and tore it out, drinking down her lifeblood.

Pete was stunned as if from a blow to the head. He skidded to a halt, looking on in horror, his eyes fixed on Tara's blank stare. Pete was powerless to save her, and she was powerless to save herself. "No!" cried Pete. _**"** **Nooo! Tara!**_ "

Serpens snarled again and threw Tara to the ground. Pete rushed to her side and knelt down. Tara's mouth was moving, but she had no power to speak. Her breath escaped through the wound in her throat. Pete whispered, "Tara…"

The elf reached a hand up to touch Pete's cheek… and then she died.

Pete looked up at Serpens and said, "She's coming back, right? That's what happens when a vampire kills somebody. They come back. Right?"

Serpens shook his head. "Oh, no. Were you unaware? _Elves are immune to vampirism._ As are dwarves… and centaurs... and all the creatures of this world. _Only humans can be turned._ "

"Then… you… you're?"

"Yes," said Serpens. "I was human. Once. A very long time ago. But Queen Jadis… she showed me the glory of immortality! And soon, dear Peter, you will join me. After all," he said, "what have you got to live for now?"

With all the speed he could muster, Pete jumped to his feet and roared, "You killed her! _I'll never join you!_ " He held up the cross and presented it to Count Serpens.

The vampire hissed and put up one arm to shield his eyes. "Where… did you get _that_?"

"Listen to me!" yelled Pete. He took the bottle of garlic-juice and hurled it into Serpens's face. The substance burned on the vampire's skin like acid, causing the creature to howl in pain. Pete grabbed for the tunic that covered Serpens's armor and pulled the vampire close. "Listen good! You killed Tara! I will _never_ be the Smithers to your Mr. Burns, you sick, evil, fuck!" The cross was still in his hand. He pressed that against Serpens's face, and it burned as well, leaving a t-shaped mark of red scar-tissue on the vampire's cheek. " _You killed Tara!_ Burn, you son of a bitch!"

Count Serpens gathered all his strength and heaved. Pete was tossed clear into the air, and he landed on the hard marble in a crumpled heap. "Not today!" hissed the vampire. "Perhaps the next time we meet, Peter, but not today!"

"Come back here!" roared the human.

But the vampire retreated into the shadows, and once again, he vanished. He melted into the darkness and disappeared from sight.

Pete rose up on his knees and felt all the rage, all the sorrow, all the pain rise to the surface. He screamed and the top of his lungs… and collapsed between the unconscious Penelope and the lifeless body of his beloved Taraiel.

* * *


	22. Chapter 22

THE Tisroc and his personal guard found Pete a broken man, openly weeping over Tara's corpse. He whispered to her, stroked her hair, and placed a soft kiss on her bloodied lips.

"Lord Peter, who has done this vile thing?" demanded Ardeeb. He spoke in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer and merely wanted to hear Pete affirm it.

Pete looked up at the Tisroc, and the jinni saw bleary eyes set in a pain-wracked face. "Serpens," spat the human. "He killed her."

Ardeeb surveyed the scene and proclaimed, "You armed yourselves to do battle with Count Serpens, after I commanded otherwise. You _could_ be held responsible for Taraiel's death."

"So could you, for letting that monster walk in through your front door!" said Pete.

The Tisroc only nodded. At length, he said, "For this crime, committed as it was by an agent of Jadis, the White Queen will receive no aid or quarter from Calormen. Your revolution, Lord Peter, should it ever happen, has nothing to fear from our empire. We will not interfere on Jadis's behalf. Thus is she repaid for taking our beautiful Taraiel from us."

Pete rose slowly to his feet and looked the Tisroc in the eye. "She wasn't _your_ Tara."

"No," admitted Ardeeb, "perhaps not—"

"Perhaps nothing! _We loved each other!_ "

In that moment, Penelope groaned and stirred, though she did not awaken.

"See to her," said the Tisroc to his soldiers. "And have the body of Queen Taraiel borne to an—"

"Don't you _touch_ her!" said Pete. "She—she—"

"Lord Peter, there are certain proprieties that must be observed in a situation like this! Get a hold of yourself!" said Ardeeb in a harsh voice. More softly, he explained, "Taraiel was a sovereign monarch. Her body must be prepared for its return to Archenland, to her people." The Tisroc closed his eyes, and Pete saw pain in the jinni's face that mirrored his own. "You are hardly the only one who loved her. If it were up to me, justice would be… but, alas, it is _not_ up to me. We are Calormen, and we must look to _all_ of our borders, not just the north." The Tisroc put his hand on Peter's shoulder and concluded, "But this, we can promise. Our imperial messengers will convey Queen Taraiel home, and our missive will make clear that Jadis's knight was her murderer. The Archenlanders will not shirk their alliance with your rebellion. Rather, they will be doubly committed, to vengeance and to you."

"No offense," said Pete, shrugging off the Tisroc's hand, "but that's not exactly the first thing on my mind right now."

"I never imagined that it was," said Ardeeb.

"Then do me a favor, and get out of my way." The human rudely brushed past the Tisroc. One of the palace guards stepped forward to arrest the infidel that had just dared assault the imperial person, but the Tisroc waved him off. Ardeeb let Pete go, because, considering what the human had just lost, he couldn't be blamed for anything.

* * *

The news of Tara's death fell on shocked ears, and none more so than Penelope's. The centauress was convalescing in her bedroom, awkwardly spread out on the huge mattress as only a quadruped with twice a human's body mass could be. "She is… truly dead, then? Somehow, I cannot bring myself to believe it."

"Nor I," said Lumpkin. He sat by the side of Penelope's bed, his hood drawn down over his face, wringing his hands in grief. "I feel as if we have lost the best of our number."

Pete came into the room, and Cynthia broke down when she saw the forlorn look on his face. With tears streaming from her own cheeks, she ran to catch the human in a tight embrace. More than anyone, she had a real sense of what Pete must have been going through right now—of how much more deeply this loss affected him. Without a word, Pete took Cynthia's hands and gently extricated himself from the nymph's hug. He walked intently over to Penelope's bedside and asked, "How are you feeling, Captain?"

Penelope noted the formality and replied, "Well enough, my lord."

Pete nodded. "Good. Make sure all the happy campers have their stuff packed. The Tisroc already gave us what we wanted, so there's no reason to stick around here. First chance we get, we blow this popsicle-stand."

"Popsicle…?" repeated Cynthia.

Pete trained a cold glare on the nymph. "I'm sorry? Is this going to be another 'Idiot's Guide to Idioms' moment? Because, let me tell you, it was kind of cute the first couple hundred times, but now it's wearing a little thin. We're leaving tomorrow. Period."

The Narnians were stunned by the unfeeling calm in Pete's voice. He was pale and drawn, and his eyes were bloodshot, but his manner was steady and purposeful. Penelope looked up at him questioningly. Though her voice cracked and tears rimmed her eyes, she said to the human, "My lord? Peter…? Before you go… I wish to apologize… for being reckless, and—"

"I don't want to hear it, Penny!" snapped Pete, suddenly angry. Then, in a flash, he was calm again. "Serpens… could have grabbed any one of us from behind like he did. So it wasn't your fault." He left Penelope in the bed and went for the exit. "It wasn't your fault," he repeated.

* * *

In the hallway outside of his own room, Pete ran into Jill. The woman from New Jersey was leaning on the inside of his doorway, waiting. "A penny for your thoughts, detective?"

"I'm tired. I'm going to get some sleep."

"That's it?" said Jill. "Your lady-love just got her throat torn out by the illegitimate lovechild of _Monty Python's_ Black Knight and Killer Bunny-Rabbit, and all you've got to say for yourself is 'I'm tired?'"

"I _am_ tired!" said Pete. "Tired of everything. And you, Miss Greene, can be a real pain the ass sometimes."

"I sure can. How about you? Ever acted like a pain in the ass before? Because, if not, you're a natural for a first-timer."

Pete sighed and ran a weary hand over his face. "Just tell me what you want, and then leave me alone so I can get some sleep."

"I wanted to ask you if… maybe… instead of me tagging along with you and the crowd from Narnia, you wanted to come with me instead?"

Pete snorted. "No offense, but where could I possibly want to go with you?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Jill, folding her arms and smirking. "How about back home to our world?"

"Oh yeah? Just how would we get there, genius?"

"Well for starters," said Jill, "you've spent the last, what, four months? Almost four months, jacking around in Narnia and Archenland on your big, important save-the-world quest. But me, I've only been in Tashbaan a few weeks, and I've already got a lead on a sorceress who can send us home."

Pete raised an eyebrow. "A… sorceress?"

"The word on the street is, she's good at what she does," said Jill. "It sounds legit."

"Then why aren't you already gone?"

"Are you kidding? Have you _seen_ what a royal horndog the Tisroc is? I'm not getting out of this castle unless you _take_ me out of here. Once we're out in the city, then we can go find the sorceress and get back to our real lives!"

Pete shook his head. "I don't know… I'm gonna need to think about this."

"Why?" asked Jill. "Got any particular reason to stay in this universe?"

"Killing Count Serpens jumps to mind," said Pete darkly.

"Revenge fantasy. Kinky. And I totally get where you're coming from, Petey-boy, but this isn't our world. You and I, we don't belong here. So when we leave this palace, _I'm_ going home. You can feel free to come along for the ride. Or not."

Jillian left Pete standing in the doorway to his bedroom with an entirely new set of problems dumped unceremoniously into his lap.

* * *

The next morning, the Narnians watched as Taraiel's embalmed body was placed in an ivory casket and borne out of the palace at the head of a somber procession of some two-hundred jinn. By order of the Tisroc, a day of mourning was declared in Tashbaan, and many jinnyah wandered throughout the city, wailing and crying and singing Calormene dirges. The mood was even more oppressive than the glaring sun that shone overhead and beat down on the desert city.

Pete, Jill, and the Narnians gathered at the gates of the palace. Pete stood next to Jill, facing his four onetime companions. Opposite them, Phineas and Cynthia stood together, arm-in-arm, with Penelope on one side of the couple and Lumpkin on the other. Pete had made his decision. "I have a chance to go home," he said. "It's a long-shot. Probably nothing. But if I don't check it out, I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

"I can't say that I'm surprised," said Phineas. "You _did_ warn us, more than once, that going home was your chief aim."

Cynthia wasn't so kind. "How could you?" she sobbed. "After everything we've gone through? After Tara…?"

Pete scowled. "Tara saved my life. And I got her killed. I'm no good for this world. Trust me, you'll all be better of with some other human who _wants_ to be a king."

"But there _are_ no other humans, not if you both leave us!" said Lumpkin. "What of Aslan? What of the prophecy?"

Pete shrugged. "Not my prophecy; not my problem. If it's meant to be, someone else will come along to help you guys out."

Penelope was infuriated. She was mad at Jill for drawing Pete away, and she was mad at Pete for wanting to leave. She was so angry, in fact, that it was all she could do to bottle up the emotion and push it deep, down inside of herself. "So… that's it, then? You just mean to leave us here, if you can?"

"Got it in one," said Pete.

"Then perhaps," said the centauress, "you are not the man I thought you were. I cannot believe that I ever considered bowing down and calling you my king."

"Never wanted you to," Pete retorted. "I'm sick of this place. I'm sick of all the pain and all the death. Sick of Count Serpens and the White Witch. I'm sick of you guys: Goat-Boy and Flower-Girl; Short Round; and even you, Mrs. Ed. But mostly, I'm just sick of this whole crapsack, primitive screwhead universe of yours. So… smell ya later."

Jillian took Pete by the hand and led him away from the flabbergasted rebels. Pete had just hurt his friends deeply, more deeply perhaps than he had ever hurt anybody in his life, and he knew it. But right now, he just didn't give a rat's ass.


	23. Chapter 23

IN a rough and seedy part of Tashbaan's poor quarter, where beggars and starving orphans mingled freely with thieves and women of the night, and where squalor piled in the streets outside ramshackle houses, Madame Azaroth kept her tent. The sign outside was inscribed in several languages, from the flowing Calormene script to plainly-drawn Narnish letters. The Narnish writing, of course, looked just like English to the humans' eyes, and so Pete and Jill could read at least that much. The sign said, " _Madame AZAROTH, retired priestess of TASH and all the GODS of Calormen. FORTUNES told; SPELLS cast; PRICES reasonable._ "

"A fortune teller?" said Pete. "I thought you said she was a sorceress."

Jill said, "Well that's what I heard. Everyone I asked said that Madame Azaroth was the best in the city. Anyway, what does it matter if she has magic that can send us home?"

Pete sighed. There was no point in turning back now. "All right. Lead on, MacDuff."

Jill rolled her eyes. "Shakespeare? Even for you, Brooklyn, that's pretty cliché."

* * *

The first thing Pete noticed about the inside of the tent was the smell. Then again, "foetid stench" might have been the better description. It was like… dried blood, pungent mildew, and formaldehyde, all mixed with just a touch of frog-slime for flavor. Then the cloth flap rolled shut behind Pete and Jill, and their eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight. Candles… there were several in the tent, all made of a drippy wax that melted over the sides of the candleholders (and some of these were made from humanlike skulls). Strings of dried herbs, gourd rinds, and chickens' feet dangled from the roof of the tent. A small table was cluttered with books, flasks, phials, beakers, a mortar and pestle, and other apparatus. Next to that, a cauldron bubbled over a fire-pit.

Pete leaned over to Jill and whispered, "You were saying something about clichés?"

Before Jill could answer, the tent was suddenly filled with wisps of opaque, gray smoke that emanated from the cauldron. The vapors cleared, and an old woman appeared—or rather, a jinnyah appeared, because she had the same bronze-red skin, sharply pointed ears, and Amazonian build of all the Calormene females that Pete had seen. Her face was creased and lined, but she didn't hunch or hobble. Her hair was curly and silvered, and her eyes were a deep violet. She addressed the two humans in a low and flowing voice: " _I have only just arrived from a transcendent journey to the spirit world, where I conferred with a messenger of the gods themselves, and he has revealed to me—_ "

"Bull," said Pete. "You were standing behind that curtain over there, and you threw a chemical into the cauldron to make smoke. Neat trick, though." He shot an incredulous glance at Jill, who for her part was trying desperately not to laugh at the whole scene.

The old woman coughed and cleared her throat. "Ahem. Ah, yes… yes… I see it now. The two of you are not my customary fare. You are connoisseurs, yes? You cannot blame an old woman in my profession for using a bit of theatricality, can you? No sense in Madame Azaroth wasting her good magic on the ordinary fortune-telling, after all…"

"I think I've seen enough," said Pete. "Come on, Jill, let's get out of here."

"Wait, Pete," said Jill, holding him by the arm. "I want to hear her out!"

"Are you joking?" said Pete. "If this were New York, I'd be arresting 'Madame Azaroth' here for misdemeanor fraud."

"But this is _not_ New York," said Madame Azaroth. "It is Tashbaan, O Son of Adam—and here, magic is no fraud! Listen to the Daughter of Eve. Please. Stay for a while and tell me what you desire." The old woman pushed two stools into the middle of the tent and motioned for the humans to sit.

"How did you know what we were?" asked Jill.

"I know _many_ things," answered the sorceress. "I was once a high priestess of Tash. Do not mistake my beggarly surroundings for anything but a self-imposed exile, for the sake of my privacy."

"And yet, you tell fortunes," said Pete.

"We must all make a living," said Madame Azaroth. "Now, what would you have of me?"

Pete looked at Jill, and she raised her eyebrows at Pete and tilted her head at the jinnyah, indicating that Pete should ask the question. Pete sighed. "Okay, here goes. Madame Azaroth, can your magic send us back home to our own world? Back to Earth?"

The sorceress didn't hesitate for a second. "Yes it can."

Pete blinked. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," said the sorceress. "To craft a door between worlds, this is either very difficult or very easy, depending on how close or far apart the worlds. You have come into this world from your own, so your world must be close. The spell will be an easy one. My price is sixty crescents apiece."

Jill looked over at Pete and shook her head. "I've only been here for three weeks. I don't have any money."

"I don't suppose you'll take Visa?" Pete joked. He took a pouch from his belt. The rebel army had carried some Narnian gold ever since the liberation of the garrison, and Taraiel had provided her friends with Archenlander currency when they had first set out for Calormen. "This is all I have," said Pete.

Madame Azaroth took the pouch and dumped it out on the table. She spent several agonizing minutes carefully separating out the Narnian, Archenlander, and Calormene coins, stacking the coppers, the silvers, and the gold pieces, and counting them carefully. "You have perhaps eighty-five crescents here," said the old woman. "For this, I can send only one of you back. Unless you have anything else of value…?"

Pete drew his elven sword, the blade given to him by Taraiel. It was a lot like Tara's own sword. And it reminded him of everything. Despite the lump in his throat, he put the sword on the table, next to the pile of coins. "There," he said. "I'd rather not keep this."

"Elven steel," said the sorceress. "A precious thing indeed. This blade will cover the remainder of your debt."

Jill leaned over to Pete and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she said. "I know what that sword means to you."

"We have a deal, then?" said Madame Azaroth.

"Yeah," said Pete. "Deal."

"Very well. I will prepare the necessary potions. It will take no more than an hour."

"The sooner the better," said Pete.

* * *

A short time later, Madame Azaroth placed two crystal goblets on the table in front of Pete and Jill. The potions gave off a reek so sickly-sweet that Pete nearly wretched. The mixture was bright green and bubbled with smoke of the same color. "It is done," said the sorceress. "Drink, and you will find yourselves home."

"This juice is going to send us back to our own universe?" said Pete.

"It will," said Madame Azaroth.

Pete took one cup, and Jill took the other. "Wait," said Pete. "How's your aim? I only ask, because I don't want to wind up in, like, Afghanistan, or, I don't know, sucking hard vacuum twelve parsecs out from Alpha Centauri."

The sorceress smiled. "This magic will send you _home_ —wherever you think of as 'home.' It cannot send you anywhere else."

"Okay," said Jill. "I'm game. Down the hatch, Brooklyn?"

"Down the hatch," said Pete.

Both humans held their noses, tilted their goblets, and drank deeply.

* * *

Pete was dreaming again. It was about Taraiel. But it wasn't a happy dream. She was a vampire. Count Serpens had turned her. He saw them both, pale, fanged, laughing cruelly over Pete. Pete looked around and saw that he was lying in an open coffin. A coffin of ivory—Tara's coffin.

"Soon," hissed Taraiel, "soon, my love, you will join us. Then we will be together… forever…"

"Not real," gasped Pete. "Can't be. Serpens said… it was impossible for elves…"

"Why, how right you are, Peter!" said Serpens. "I've made a terrible mistake! I'm sorry, Taraiel, my dear, but you have to go away now."

And then Serpens grabbed the vampire Tara from behind, and while she laughed hysterically, he sank his teeth into her…

* * *

Pete gave a startled cry and woke up. He looked around. He was in his own apartment, in Brooklyn—in a building just off Atlantic Avenue, in the Heights. It was daytime. A quick glance at his old digital clock-radio showed eight thirty in the morning. A throbbing pain lanced through Pete's head, like a hangover headache, but worse. "What the hell?" he grumbled. He rolled over. He was on his bed, above the covers. And he was still wearing the Archenlander clothes that he had been given by the elves. "It was all real," he said to himself. "Duh. Of course it was real. Can't make that stuff up."

He turned and sat up on the side of the bed. His phone and answering machine were on the bedside, and the light on the machine was blinking. Without thinking, Pete hit the "play" button and stood up. _"Hey, big brother. It's Lucy! I'm getting together with Sue, Frank, and the kids tonight, and Eddie's gonna be there too. I hope you show up this time, ya big lug!"_ BEEP. _"You have… ninety-eight … new messages."_ The answering machine was digital, but it couldn't store any more messages than that.

Pete groaned. He only thanked his lucky star that his apartment was on a biannual lease, and not a monthly rental, or else he might've just dropped in on some very surprised new occupants.

* * *

There was a pile of mail on the floor of his apartment, just beneath the slot in the door. Mostly bills, with lots of angry red "final notice" stamps on them. Thankfully, utilities came with the apartment. The electricity was still on, the water still ran, and the phones still worked. For the first time in four months, Pete took a hot shower and shaved with a real razor. And then, he went into his kitchen… and promptly decided on going out for breakfast. The trash can and the refrigerator both gave off a stupendous funk that said, "Hey, we haven't been emptied in four months."

Pete decided that he would deal with it later, after eating a real meal at his favorite diner. Then, maybe, he would worry about what kind of story he could tell the precinct captain to save his job.

* * *

The rest of his mail and newspapers had been kept in a bin by the apartment superintendent, Mrs. Berkowitz. "Finally came back, eh? Where were ya, Detective? On a bender in Vegas, or what?"

"Well, whatever it was, it was a trip all right," said Pete. "It's good to see you, by the way."

"Oh, so now you're polite all of the sudden," sniffed the super. "I hope this means you'll start paying bills again. And clean that stink out of your place—the family in 3B has been complaining for a few weeks now."

"I'll take care of it," said Pete. "Hey, where's today's paper in all of this?"

Mrs. Berkowtiz handed him the whole bin. "Find it yourself. It should be on the top."

Pete unrolled the paper and checked the date. He had disappeared close to the beginning of November, and now it was the end of February. The headline said something about President Obama and falling stocks. "Thanks," said Pete. He rolled up the paper and put it back in the bin.

"Hey!" said the super. "Aren't you going to take this stuff?"

"I'll get it on my way back up," said Pete. Then he left the building.

* * *

The next day, Pete had a stocked fridge and a whole mess of air-fresheners and plug-ins all over the apartment. A stack of rented DVDs sat on top of his TV, and an open pizza-box with two slices left sat on the couch. On the coffee table, several empty bottles of Sam Adams surrounded an uncorked bottle of Jameson.

The doorbell rang. Pete looked up from the sofa, grabbed the remote, and snapped off the TV. Then he went to the door and peeked through the peephole.

"Hey, bro, I know you're in there! Open up!"

It was Eddie.

Pete opened the door. "How did you know I was back?" he said.

Eddie pushed his way into the apartment and grabbed Pete in a rough bear-hug. "My God!" he said. "Where the hell have you been? And what happened to you? You're all covered in… shit, man, where did the scars and bruises come from?"

"How did you know I was back?" Pete repeated.

"Oh. Uh, your superintendent. Mrs. B-something. She called the emergency contact on your lease-form."

"That's Mom and Dad!" said Pete.

"Yep. And they called me, and Lucy, and Susan. _And_ they're flying down from Albany tomorrow to kick your sorry ass in person for making them worry half to death!" Eddie grinned and slapped Pete on the back.

Pete got a good look at his brother for the first time in far too long. Same old Eddie: sharp suit, power-tie, slick haircut. The model attorney. "It's, uh… I'm _really_ glad to see you, Ed."

"Same here. So, where have you been all this time?" As he talked, Eddie walked into the apartment and looked around. His eyes fell on the stack of movies by the TV. "Let's see… _Empire Strikes Back,_ okay. _Godfather,_ excellent choice. And… _Bugs Bunny's Greatest Hits, Volume 2._ Well, that's just you all over, isn't it, Pete?"

"I needed something to make me feel like I was… finally home," said Pete.

"What the hell happened, man?"

Pete ran both of his hands down his face. How to explain _this_ to his family? "I, uh… I'll tell everybody everything when they get here. Until then, I'm not sure that I can… uh… I can't."

"That bad, huh?" said Eddie. "Any hints?"

"Well… I was somewhere else. And I got beat up a lot. And I met a girl."

"But she broke your heart, didn't she?"

"She died, Eddie. I got her into trouble, and she died."

"I'm sorry, man." Eddie reached into his pocket and fished out a cell phone. He handed it to Pete and said, "If you need anything, no matter where you are, you call me, okay?"

"Yeah. Sure," said Pete.

Eddie said, "Tomorrow night, my place. Be there. Then we're all going out to Fred's on 132nd."

Pete smiled. "My favorite."

Eddie went for the door. "See ya later, bro. And don't go disappearing on us again!"

"Don't worry," said Pete. "This is exactly where I want to be."


	24. Chapter 24

THE 84th precinct station was like a second home to Pete. He knew the place like the back of his hand. And in four months, nothing had changed. The same young rookie cop at the front desk; the same repeat-offenders being marched from booking to temporary custody; the same noise, bustle, and general chaos of an NYPD police station.

More than a few surprised stares from well-known colleagues greeted Pete when he walked by. There was Sanchez, from vice, rubbing his eyes. And over by the water-cooler stood Wilson, who worked larceny—she was too busy staring at Pete to notice that the water was running over the rim of her mug. Pete half-smiled and waved at her. Then Wilson realized that she was spilling water on herself.

Pete hurried on his way, eager to avoid a scene. He went straight for the captain's office.

* * *

Captain O'Hara was a large, stern man with freckles on his round face and bright red hair that he kept cut short. He had never been known for his calm disposition. "'Trouble' doesn't begin to describe what you're in, Detective. Even 'deep shit' is so far over your head, you only _wish_ that's where you were!"

"Actually, considering where I was, this is pretty cushy by comparison," said Pete.

"Oh yeah?" said O'Hara. "Why don't you enlighten me? Explain how you can just drop off the face of the planet for a few months, and then walk back in here like nothing's happened!"

"Well," said Pete, "if you must know." He took off his jacket, removed his necktie, and started to unbutton his shirt. Captain O'Hara's eyebrows shot up, but a certain morbid curiosity kept him from saying anything. Pete uncovered his chest, and every mark of the torture he had suffered under Mt. Pire—every scar, every burn—was made visible to the captain.

"Holy shit, Pevensie, what happened to you?"

Pete took a breath and buttoned up his shirt again. This was it. The moment of truth. Only, Pete had no intention whatsoever of actually telling the truth, since that would only get him locked up in a nuthouse. So, really, this was more like the moment for a stone-cold lie. "It was only supposed to be for a weekend," he said. "I took a cab to Atlantic City to hit some bars, some casinos, you know? But on my first night there, some muggers got the drop on me. They kicked the crap out of me. Must have beaten me within an inch of my life."

"Sure as hell looks that way," said O'Hara.

"They got my wallet," said Pete. "All my cash, my ID. And they dumped me off in front of some dinky little unlicensed clinic. Or, at least, that's what must've happened, because I don't remember anything until I woke up there. I was in a coma for pretty much the whole time, and they didn't have any way to identify me."

Captain O'Hara gave a low whistle. "And the guys who did this to you?"

"Couldn't say. Like I said, it was nighttime, and they took me by surprise. I didn't have much to tell the Jersey cops, but they said they'd take care of it." This was a sticky point: if the captain decided to look into Pete's story, to see if he'd really talked to any police in Atlantic City, there wouldn't be any record. He'd just have to trust that O'Hara would take him at his word on this, at least for a little while. "When I woke up, I called a friend for a ride back to New York. I only got back yesterday."

The captain nodded. "That's some story. Sounds like you've been through hell, Detective."

Pete said, "Honestly, now that it's all over, I'd like nothing better than to get back to work."

O'Hara shook his head and said, "You know how this has to go, Pevensie. It sounds like you've been through some serious trauma. I can't let you come back until you've had a full physical and passed a psyche evaluation."

"A psyche eval? Captain—"

"No buts, Pevensie. You're a good cop, but you're lucky I don't bust you back down to patrolman for this stupid stunt." The captain reached into his desk and pulled out some papers and a business card. "This is the address to the shrink that the department keeps on retainer. You see this guy within a week, and if he signs off on this release form, you can come back to work. Not a minute sooner, though. Understand?"

"Yes sir," said Pete. Needless to say, though he was grateful to still have his job, he was _not_ happy about this development.

* * *

At Fred's Bar and Grill that night, the Pevensie family got together for the first time in several months. Eddie was already waiting when Pete arrived. Then Lucy, the youngest sibling, showed up and hugged Pete with teary eyes. She punched him the arm and said, "Don't you ever go doing something that stupid again! You had us all worried sick!" Not long after that, Susan arrived with her family—her husband, Frank, and their kids, Bobby and Jenny, ages twelve and ten. And finally, Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie, or Chuck and Gracie to their friends, got out of a taxicab and came into the restaurant.

Charles Pevensie was a quiet man, a war vet, and a retired salesman. He was balding and wore bifocals, but still he managed to exude an aura of strength. His wife, Grace, was more outgoing, with a pleasant face and a keener sense of humor. At parties and social gatherings, when they were getting ready to leave, Chuck liked to deliver the old line, "Say goodnight, Gracie!" to which his wife would dutifully repeat, "Goodnight, Gracie!" And everybody would laugh, even if they were too young to know who Burns and Allen were.

The gathering was animated. Susan's kids always loved being around their Uncle Eddie, and Bobby always wanted to know if Pete had ever shot any bad guys. Usually it would astound Pete how much Bobby and Jenny had both grown since he saw them last, but not this time: they hadn't changed a bit. Nobody had. He hadn't really been gone all that long.

"I wish you wouldn't swear like that in front of my kids, Ed," said Susan. "Do you talk like that in front of the judge?"

"Your mother raised you better than that," added Chuck. "Both you boys."

"Yeah," giggled Lucy, "both you boys!"

"Aw, come on, Lu! You curse like a sailor when Mom and Dad aren't around!" said Eddie.

"Eddie, enough from you!" said Grace. "Pete still hasn't told us what happened to him."

Suddenly the table fell silent and all eyes were on Pete. "Uh… I don't know if I should get into it in front of the kids. But, uh…" And he decided, right then and there, that he would have to give his family the same story had he had given to Captain O'Hara. There was no way that they would believe the truth. And so, he told them that he had been in a hospital the entire time, comatose and with no identification, and that was why it seemed that he had disappeared for so long. What's more, they all believed this story… except for Eddie.

Eddie knew Pete like nobody else. He could tell when his brother was lying, and right now, Pete was lying through his teeth.

A couple of hours later, the party broke up, and Pete received emotional embraces and heartfelt "welcome backs" from his parents, his sisters, and his niece and nephew. His brother-in-law shook his hand. Then only Pete and Eddie were left, and Eddie said, "Okay, what was that line of crap you just fed everybody?"

"They wouldn't believe the truth, Ed. I just couldn't."

"Well you can tell me," said Eddie. "I'll believe it, because I know when you're telling the truth and when you're just blowing smoke."

"Okay," said Pete. He pointed to the bar, and they both sat down. Pete said, "What I'm about to say… well, it sounds crazy, so just don't interrupt until it's over, all right?" Eddie ordered a beer and agreed to Pete's condition. So Pete began, and he told the whole story: his investigation of Professor Kirke's suicide; his arrival in Narnia; the journey through Archenland; and what happened in Calormen. He spoke of Lumpkin, of Penelope and Cyrus, of Phineas and Cynthia, and of Queen Taraiel. He told Eddie about the White Witch, about Lubash the giant, about Count Serpens and mad Falon, and about the Tisroc Ardeeb and Miss Jillian Greene.

When it was all over, Eddie stared down at his third empty pint-glass. It was true—or, at least, Pete believed that it was true. "I don't know what to say," he admitted.

Pete shrugged. "Doesn't matter. It's all over with now."

"For what it's worth, I think Tara loved you as much as you loved her. It sucks that it didn't work out for you two."

"I've been thinking about that," said Pete. "She was an elf. She would have lived forever. So whenever I died, I would've just been setting her up for the same kind of heartbreak. Maybe it was never meant to be."

"Better to have loved and lost, though. Right?" Eddie ordered another round for the both of them. Pete looked like he needed it.

"I don't know," said Pete. "'Loved' is good, but 'lost'… 'lost' just hurts like hell."

* * *

That Thursday, at one o'clock in the afternoon, Pete showed up at the door of a therapist's office in one of those oversized and impersonal, all-purpose medical centers. Painted on the glass office-door was the name, "J. Davidson, PHD, Licensed Psychoanalyst."

Dr. Davidson was an odd-looking man, in his fifties perhaps, with piercing eyes and a bushy beard of bright, blond hair. Pete thought that he looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. When he first saw the doctor, he said, "Excuse me, but have we met before?"

"No, no, I think we'd both remember it, eh?" said the doctor. He sat down in a large leather armchair, and Pete was made to recline on a couch. "So," began the doctor, "let's get started, shall we? It says here that you were in a vegetative state for several months… any dizziness? Forgetfulness? Hallucinations?"

"Nah," said Pete. "None of that."

"It's a documented medical fact that people in comas can experience some very lifelike dreams. Whole worlds, detailed characters… they can come to life in a person's subconscious mind. Do you recall having any experiences like that?"

Pete stared at Dr. Davidson, but he didn't say anything right away. His hesitation was enough of a cue for the doctor, who pushed a call-button on an intercom and said, "Doris, please cancel my two o'clock."

"Very funny," said Pete. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

It had taken some finesse, but eventually, the shrink had signed off on the release form. Now Pete officially had a clean bill of mental health. He would be able to go back to work at the precinct. The only problem was, the idea of getting back into the old routine, of adjusting to his old life… it just wasn't as exciting as it used to be. Catching bad guys, protecting the innocent… Pete was starting to feel that he had abandoned an even more important responsibility in Narnia. Something that even outweighed his duties as a detective. His decision to come home might have been a hasty one… but, in any case, it didn't matter. It wasn't like he could just decide to go back.

* * *

One evening, about a week later, Pete was drinking alone at Fred's Bar, when somebody tapped him on the shoulder. A familiar voice said, "It's surprisingly hard to track you down, Brooklyn!"

Pete spun around and saw Jill standing by the bar. She was wearing one of those mainstays of the clubbing set, the infamous "little black dress," and Pete couldn't help but notice that she filled it out very nicely. "That looks much better on you than the _I Dream of Jeannie_ getup."

"Thanks, you're so sweet!" laughed Jill.

Soon, the two of them fell to talking of their respective experiences in that other world, the world of Narnia and Calormen. They were, after all, the only two people who could really talk to each other about it. Even though Eddie believed Pete, he hadn't actually been there. Jill had seen it first hand, and that counted for a great deal in Pete's estimation.

"Say," said Jill, "you want to get out of here? Go do something?"

"There's probably still time to take in a late movie," said Pete. "Come on."

* * *

A little while later, they stood outside an old bijou, looking up at the movie selection. "I don't get it," said Pete. "Where are all the new movies?" The placard above the ticket-booth read, _Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon_ , _The African Queen,_ and _The Treasure of the Sierra Madre._

"It must be some kind of classic film festival," said Jill. "A Humphrey Bogart quintuple feature."

"Not that I don't love a good Bogey flick," said Pete, "but I can't remember this theater ever showing old movies before. Weird." He shrugged his shoulders and went up to the ticket-booth, arm-in-arm with Jill. "Well, whatever. Which one's your favorite, babe?"

"Normally I'd say _Casablanca_ , but _Maltese Falcon_ is about a detective. Detectives are sexy."

"Why, Miss Greene, I do believe you're trying to insinuate something."

"Maybe I am, Mr. Pevensie," said Jill, drawing Pete into her dark eyes with a siren gaze. "You'll have to stick around until after the movie to find out."

Jill took her ticket and sashayed into the theater. Pete smiled to himself and said, "Whew. Play it again, Sam." Then he followed her inside.


	25. Chapter 25

PETE saw quite a lot of Jill after that first date. Since Jill mostly did freelance work, her business brought her into the city frequently. Over the next couple of days, they shared many dinners and many old movies. Then, one evening, she mentioned to Pete that she would have to go to work right here in New York the next morning. Instead of paying for a hotel room, Pete said, why couldn't Jill just stay at his place? She accepted the offer.

The next morning, Jill got dressed in the bedroom, while Pete lazily ate a bowl of corn flakes in the kitchen. Jill crept into the kitchen, now wearing a very executive skirt and blazer ensemble, and she kissed Pete. "Good morning, sunshine!"

"Morning," said Pete. He opened up a newspaper and flipped through it, while Jill looked on. None of the articles caught his eye. The opinion pages rehashed the same old debates. And for the life of him, he couldn't find the movie times. There must have been a listing of new movies somewhere in the _Times_ , but it was probably hidden away in section D or whatever, and so Pete put the paper away.

"You know, we should probably talk about last night," said Pete. "I mean, about what we—"

"What do you want to do tonight?" interrupted Jill.

"Oh, uh, something new," said Pete. "Something different."

"Sounds mysterious," said Jill. "Well, I have to be off. See you later, gorgeous!"

Pete just chuckled at that.

Jill went over to the front door and slipped on her shoes. Pete heard her mutter, _"Honestly. Heels. Why do Earth women do this to themselves?"_

Pete looked up. "What did you say?"

"Nothing!" said Jill. "Bye, sweetie!"

* * *

Pete's specialty was homicide investigation. But in the week or so that he had been back on the job, things had been strangely quiet. And so, he spent most of his time at the station going over old cases and catching up on paperwork. His little jaunt into Narnia would probably eat up most of his sick leave and vacation time for the next year or two, but Pete didn't mind. He really had missed this old life of his, even if desks and pencils weren't quite as adventuresome as broadswords and arrows.

That night, he met Jill back at the apartment. And the two of them took to the streets, until Pete hailed a cab. They climbed in the back together, and Jill snuggled up against Pete. It was still early March, after all, and pretty darned cold in New York.

"Where are we going?" asked Jill.

"Somewhere new. I want to find a theater that isn't showing old movies. _Something_ worth watching must have come out since we, uh, went away, right?"

"Oh," said Jill. She didn't sound very excited.

"It's funny," Pete went on. "All the TV that I've seen since we got back… reruns. Episodes that I'm pretty sure I'd seen before."

"Is that so?"

"And all the newspapers and magazines? It seems like the dates and the numbers are the only things that changed about them. Maybe I just wasn't paying attention before, but now it seems like every time I open up a paper to read it, it all looks really familiar. Too familiar." Pete wasn't even hiding the suspicion in his voice now.

Jill was looking out the window of the cab, pretending not to listen.

"Jill. What's going on? You can't tell me that you haven't noticed how… funny… everything is."

Jill turned to look at Pete, and tears formed in her eyes. "Driver," she said, "don't take us to the theater."

The cab-driver was a young man of Indian descent. "Then where to, miss?" he said.

Jillian rattled off an address in East Flatbrush. Pete recognized it at once: Professor Digory Kirke's home. The rest of the cab-ride passed in tense silence.

* * *

The taxicab pulled to the curb in front of the old professor's house. "Well, well," said Pete, stepping out of the car. "A little trip down memory lane. How do you know about this place, Jill?"

Pete turned around and almost jumped out of his skin. Jill was standing in the street behind him, but the taxi and driver had vanished. So had all the other cars parked up and down the street. There were no people around. There was no traffic, no noise. It was as if all of New York City had suddenly become deserted.

"I didn't know about it," she said. "You did. It came from your memories."

"My… memories?"

"Everything you've seen, Pete—everything since we 'came home'—has been a memory."

"No," said Pete, shaking his head, "that doesn't make sense. I've talked with people. I've seen my family. None of that ever happened before, so it can't be any damn memory!"

Jillian stepped forward and took Pete's arms to steady him. "Listen to me! The people you think you've seen, they're not real! They're not here! It's all been based on your memories of them, on your expectations! Your preconceptions. How you think they'd act and talk. But they're not real."

Pete felt his throat tighten. He shut his eyes tightly. "They're real," he said. "They've got to be real."

"No," said Jill. "They're illusions. Constructs. I made them… with my magic."

Pete opened his eyes and stared at the woman before him. She was beautiful, and she was sad, but Pete felt no sympathy. "Do you have any _idea_ what you've done to me? Do you even have a concept of how _wrong_ this is?"

"If it's wrong to show you your old life, to let you see your family again, then, no," said Jill, "I don't. Even if they weren't really here, the experience was real to _you_. You and I… _we_ were real!"

"You and I…?" said Pete, gaping at the sheer audacity of it all. " _We_ are a lie! I don't even know who you are! Christ, I don't even know _what_ you are!"

Jillian Greene closed her eyes, and her human clothes melted away—the dress, the handbag, the shoes—and they were replaced by emerald robes and a jeweled girdle that clasped about her waist. She also wore an emerald-studded coronet on her brow, and she carried a wand of mistletoe. "I am a witch," she said. "My true name is Jada."

"Jada," echoed Pete. "Any relation to someone else we know?"

"Jadis is my mother. She is the White Witch, and the Queen of Narnia. I am the Green Witch, Princess of Narnia, and Duchess of the Ettinsmoor and the North Country."

Pete stared at Jada, his expression one of stone-faced calm. "Who was dad?"

Jada tilted her head to one side, as if trying to decide whether it was worth answering all of Pete's questions. She elected to be forthcoming. "My father was a human man. A knight, by the name of Sir Baelin. During the time period that you call 'the Crusades,' he came into Narnia, and he tried to depose my mother. But he failed, and the Queen brought him over to her side. That was seven-hundred years ago."

Pete laughed at that. Actually, he giggled and snorted like a man whose sanity dangled by a thread. Because, at this point, it probably did. "You're… seven-hundred years old? God, I sure know how to pick 'em, don't I?"

Jada looked pleadingly at the human and said, "Please, Pete! This… vision… that I've given you, it doesn't have to be the end! I have real powers of my own! I can take both of us to Earth—for real!"

Pete sniffed loudly and contained his giggling. "Oh, really? And you'd come with me, why, exactly?"

"Are you joking?" smiled Jada. "From the moment I first peered into your memories, first saw your world, I fell in love with it! It's glorious! So many people, so much knowledge, so much to do! And movies, Pete! I simply _adore_ movies! And the foods… chocolate alone is reason enough to live on Earth! If only—"

"Listen to me very carefully," Pete cut in. When he had Jada's full attention, he placed both of his hands on her cheeks, leaned in close, and said, "You've screwed with my head. You've screwed with my heart. And you've screwed with me. _Get stuffed."_

Jada's jaw dropped. "But… but, I thought… you and I…"

"Oh, come on, lady! Get it through your thick skull! There is no 'you and I,' and there never was! It wasn't real! _You_ made sure of that." Pete forcibly pushed Jada away, and the Green Witch fell to the ground in a tussled heap.

"We could… we could still be allies, Pete! We could work together, defeat my mother, free Narnia…"

"Nice try," said Pete, "but whatever it is you're selling, I'm not buying. Just tell me how to get the hell out of this… this fun-house of yours."

Jada sat on the ground, stewing in rejection and humiliation. Pete didn't want her. And she couldn't understand why. "In truth, we never left Tashbaan," she said, her voice forlorn and defeated.

"Okey-dokey," said Pete. "I guess I'll find my own way out." He left Princess Jada sitting alone on an illusory sidewalk and went up to the illusory front door of Professor Digory Kirke's illusory old house.

* * *

It really was a flawless replica of the old man's attic, right down to every last detail on the ornate wardrobe. Pete opened the door and saw fur coats. He pushed his way through and felt around. The wardrobe had no back. On the other side, it was warm. But it was a dry heat, like a desert.

* * *

When Pete woke up again, he was in a gutter. To be precise, he was lying in a puddle of filth and garbage on the side of a Tashbaan street. He felt terrible. And _really_ hungry. And he had to pee. Pete stood up and brushed himself off. The street was deserted. Judging from the position of the sun, it was mid-afternoon. His muscles ached, but there was no time to waste. He had to hurry.

Pete made his way out of the poor quarter and into the northeastern part of the city, where the banks of the Calormen River could be found. He asked around for a bit, until a group of jinn remembered seeing Narnian travelers at a riverside inn. Pete thanked them and followed their directions.

At the inn, he pushed his way through the front door, and there he found his friends. They were all seated at a small, round table and talking amongst themselves in low tones. "Hey," said Pete. "Got room for one more at this table?"

"That depends," said Lumpkin. "Can you stomach the company of a few sickening, primitive screwheads?"

"Yeah, about that," said Pete. "I was… a total jerkass. I know that. None of you deserved the things I said, and I…"

"And you didn't really mean them," said Cynthia. "You were grieving. We understand."

"Taraiel's death has affected all of us," added Phineas. "It's only to be expected that you would feel it the most deeply."

Pete walked around the table and sat next to Penelope. He said, "Penny, I, uh… I need to—"

"You don't need to say anything," said the centauress. "Just let it drop."

"Okay," nodded Pete.

"So, Lord Peter, do tell us," said Lumpkin, "where have you been all this time? You look like you just took a nap in a trash-heap!"

"Uh, yeah, that's kind of a long story. First off, um, how many weeks have you guys been waiting around for me? I would've thought—"

"Weeks, Lord Peter?" said Phineas. "You only left us this morning."

"Oh," said Pete. He looked down at the table. The others were silent, waiting for him to speak. "Jill… she wasn't who she said she was. She was a witch. The Green Witch."

The Narnians all paled when Pete made this revelation, and Penelope exclaimed, "The daughter of Jadis? The Lady of the Emerald Kirtle? Why, her guile and wickedness are _legendary_ in Narnia! By the Lion's Mane, we are all fortunate to be alive! And you, Peter, you are lucky that she did not steal your soul!"

Pete reached up and felt the two marks on his neck, the bite-wound left by Count Serpens. "I guess you didn't get the memo," he deadpanned. "Another bad guy already has first dibs on that."


	26. Chapter 26

FOR the sum of a few Calormene crescents, the five companions were able to book passage on a river-barge making its way for the coast. Eastward and downriver they floated, on a journey that would take some eight days in total. Only occasionally did the barge ever put ashore on the riverbank, as the jinn who piloted it were traders, and they wanted to make good time. These jinn could deftly steer the craft with long poles that touched the riverbed, while the current itself carried it along swiftly.

The further they got from Tashbaan, the more wan and sickly Pete became. He was frequently ill, and the bloodshot redness never left his eyes. Even the slightest exertion left Pete winded anymore, so it was a good thing that they weren't hiking overland to their next destination. Such a journey would probably exhaust the human's fading strength.

One night, while the Narnians slept on the barge, Pete laid back and looked up at the stars, mostly because he was too queasy to rest comfortably. Everything that had happened so far… it was almost too much. Taraiel was dead. Thanks to Count Serpens, Pete was slowly dying too. Jill was actually a wicked witch. And his return home—to New York, to his family, to his life—that had all been her sick joke. He was still stuck in Narnia. He was still the only human being—the all-important Son of Adam—the one destined to sit on the High King's throne. Taken altogether, it _was_ too much.

"My Lord Peter."

Pete looked up. Lumpkin was awake. The dwarf sat by the railing that ran along the edge of the barge. "Hey," said Pete, his voice raspy. The human had been having trouble keeping food down, and this left his throat dry and scratchy.

"You haven't spoken much since we left Tashbaan," said Lumpkin.

"I'm not feeling well. And I've got a lot on my mind."

"I can see that," said the dwarf. "The others… they worry. As do I."

"You worry about little old me?" asked Pete.

"Of course. For many reasons. You were ready to abandon us, my lord. If you had found your path home, your way back to the old life you knew, what would you have done? Would you have taken it?"

"No question," said Pete. "Yes. I would have. But that doesn't matter now."

"Not right now, it doesn't," said Lumpkin, "because there was no way home for you this time. But what about the next time? What happens when you really do find a door back to your world?"

Pete looked over at the dwarf. Lumpkin's expression was somewhere between anxious and angry. The human sighed. "You've got me all wrong," Pete said. "It doesn't matter now, because I'm not going to try and go home anymore. Between the White Witch, the Black Knight, and the Green Witch… the things they've done to me… it's fucking _personal_ now."

"So… you'll stay and fight, not because you want to save Narnia or become our king, but because you have a private vendetta against our enemies?" asked Lumpkin.

"Yup."

"Good," said Lumpkin. "Now you're thinking like a dwarf."

Pete suddenly burst out laughing, and Lumpkin joined him. Their mirth was short-lived, though, because Pete's stomach gave a sudden turn, and he winced in pain. Soon, both man and dwarf fell into a melancholy silence.

After a while, Pete said, "I miss her."

"As do we all," said Lumpkin. He sighed. "It is a terrible thing to lose a lover. I know what you go through, my friend."

"Do you?"

The dwarf nodded. "Do you remember… when I told you of my exile? The crime that I was banished for?"

"You taught a Black Dwarf to forge weapons the way Red Dwarves do."

"Yes. The Black Dwarves are primarily warriors, not smiths. And my protégé… she was incredible. Her skill with the sword, the axe, the bow… you wouldn't believe it. And beauty… the loveliest creature that I had ever laid eyes on. Ah, but I was much younger then. It was so long ago…"

"I'm sorry," said Pete.

"So am I," said Lumpkin. "Every day."

They both fell silent again, as the night deepened and grew colder.

* * *

The Calormene village at the mouth of the river, Rash Emekh by name, was dominated by warehouses, trading posts, and a broad quay with many piers. At all hours of the day, ships put in and out of the docks, carrying goods and people to and from all the corners of the world. But today, five rebels from Narnia needed something more precious than foreign wares. They needed a ship that would bear them to the Kingdom of the Isles, the realm of the sea-people, out in the vast Eastern Ocean.

Pete was glad to be off the barge, and though he was still feeling weak, he walked with his friends along the docks. The salty air coming off the ocean was fresh and invigorating, and it seemed to do him some good. As they strode along, he casually asked the others what the mer-people were like in this world. "The elves and dwarves are pretty much what I'd expect," he explained, "but the jinn didn't quite match the legends we have back on Earth." They didn't live in bottles or grant wishes, after all. And not one of them had looked like Barbara Eden.

Phineas replied, "I have never seen the Children of Water. For all of my days, I have dwelt in the west of Narnia. This is as far from home as I have ever traveled." The same was true of Lumpkin and Penelope, since the dwarf had only ever lived in the Red Mountains and the Western Woods; and the centauress, who was by far the youngest of the lot, had only ever known the Beruna Plains.

Cynthia, though, said, "The sea-people are different from the other three Great Races. The dwarves of Earth, the elves of Air, the jinn of Fire… they're all shaped more or less like you, Peter, and like me. The Sons and Daughters of Water, though, they only have a human shape above the waist. Like the fauns and the centaurs."

"And yet, they get to be called People rather than Beasts," said Pete. "Real nice."

"It's not their shape that makes it so," said Cynthia. "All the races of this world were made differently from one another. You humans have souls that were made in the image of something greater than all of us. The souls of the elves and the dwarves, the jinn and the merfolk, they're a reflection of yours—similar, but not quite the same. And everybody else… the talking animals and the half-beasts, the spirits of the trees and the rivers… we were put here for your kind to rule over. We're just… different."

Pete still couldn't believe what he was hearing, but he didn't really have the stamina to argue right now. He did notice, though, that neither Penelope nor Phineas objected to being called 'half-beasts'—and neither did they deny what Cynthia said about their purpose in this world. They really believed that they were meant to be ruled over by a human, and that was that. "Whatever," said Pete. "Go on."

"Well, the merrow-folk look rather like fish below the waist," said Cynthia. "I mean, not exactly like fish, but they have tails in place of legs. And they're great sailors and shipwrights. They ply all of the trade routes between Narnia, the Isles, and Calormen."

"They have fish-tails," said Pete, "but they sail ships? How does that work out? Or do they build submarines?"

"I don't know what a submarine is," said Cynthia, "but as to how they sail, you'll just have to wait and see."

* * *

"I've found a ship that might suit our needs," said Lumpkin. The other rebels were sitting on the quay in a small circle, chatting amongst themselves and waiting for the dwarf to return. Gulls circled overhead and the mid-morning sun shone brightly on the choppy seawater. "It's an Islander ship," said Lumpkin, "and they're bound for home—for Narrowhaven in the Lone Isles."

"That's the capital of the sea-kingdom," Cynthia clarified for Pete. "Queen Morrigan dwells there, in a palace on the shoreline."

"But on which side of the shoreline?" asked Pete. "The land or the sea?"

"Neither," smiled Cynthia. "It's exactly on the shoreline. Only at lowest tide is it ever completely dry."

"So, about this ship…" said Penelope, eager to get down to business.

Lumpkin said, "Of course. She is called the _Dawn Treader_ , and her captain is a Son of Water by the name of Diarmuid. It seems a fine, sturdy vessel. And doubtlessly swift, though she will be riding low in the water for the first leg of our journey—she has cargo bound for Terebinthia, the first isle of the sea-kingdom."

"I remember seeing that on the maps, back in Anvard," said Pete. "It's the big island, way south of Galma, right?"

"Yes, that's correct," said Lumpkin. "To get to the Lone Isles, we will first have to pass Terebinthia and the Seven Isles. All in all, it is a journey of some six or seven weeks, if the wind is with us, and we meet no delays."

"Delays," repeated Pete.

"Indeed," said Lumpkin. "Hurricanes, doldrums, pirates, scurvy… all manner of potential dangers await us at sea."

Pete only seemed to grow sickly again, but Phineas smiled. "What are we waiting for?" said the faun. "Cheer up." He slapped the human on the back (which knocked the wind out of him) and chuckled heartily.

* * *

Captain Diarmuid of the _Dawn Treader_ was indeed a Son of Water—a merman. He had hair and eyes of the deepest blue-green, almost turquoise, and he wore a puffy white shirt, like something strait out of an old Hollywood pirate movie. A cutlass was tied to a sash around his waist. Below that, though, he wore no clothes at all—since, instead of legs, he had a long tail covered in blue-green scales, with a fishy dorsal fin that ran all the way down the back of it and a large caudal fin on the end. As Cynthia had said, the merfolk didn't look _exactly_ like fishes below the waist. Their tails were long and coiled, and they rather reminded Pete of old nautical maps with drawings of sea-serpents on them. This, then, explained how the merrows got about on land and sailed above water on ships: their tails were long enough that the mer-people were quite capable of balancing and standing on them. Pete watched curiously as Captain Diarmuid moved down the gangplank of his ship to greet them. The merman walked with a motion that was… more like a slither than a hop, but not altogether graceful either. The sea-people were able on land, but nonetheless awkward.

"Are ye Lord Peter, who means to sail for Narrowhaven?" asked Diarmuid. He spoke Narnish, but with a peculiar brogue, more like a Somerset accent than any Irish or Scottish.

"Yes I am," said Pete. "What's your price, to carry the five of us?"

"Already paid," said the sea-captain with a smile. "Master Lumpkin tells me that ye be part of a diplomatic mission, to see our queen about an alliance against the White Witch. So me ship and I be at yer service, Son o' Adam."

Pete grinned and thanked the merman for his generosity. "When do we set sail?" he asked.

"On the morrow, at dawn's first light," said Diarmuid. "'Tis the best time for a ship like _Dawn Treader_ to put out, wouldn't ye agree?"

"I can't argue with flawless logic like that," said Pete with a laugh. "Just one question, though. I'm curious about something."

"Aye?"

"Are all the sea-people able to move around on land like you do? I mean, do you live on land more, or in the water more?"

Diarmuid nodded and considered how to answer Pete. "In truth, we merrow-folk be something of land and something of sea alike. 'Tis why we can breathe both the water and the air, I suppose, what with us having both lungs and gills." Here, the captain turned his head aside, first one way and then the other, and Pete could see three tiny gill-slits on either side of the merman's neck. They were closed tightly at the moment, though, for the captain was in the open air, and breathing with his lungs. "As to land-walking, though, not all of us learn how. Can all the Sons o' Adam and Daughters o' Eve swim in the ocean?"

Pete shook his head. "No, but most learn how."

"Same kind o' thing," said Diarmuid. "Land-walking is a trick our people learned a long time ago, from the Dufflepuds."

"Dufflepuds?" said Pete. "Who're they?"

The captain smiled and said, "Oh, they live on an island, far, far away from here. Don't mind about 'em, since you'll probably never meet one."

* * *

The _Dawn Treader_ was an impressive galleon, three-masted, with square sails and a figurehead carved in the shape of a serpentine dragon. From bow to stern, she was painted in bright greens and reds, which gave the whole ship the appearance of a live sea-monster. Above the crow's nest, she flew the aquamarine flag of the Island Kingdom: a silver dolphin and trident backed by a field of blue-green. At the crack of dawn on the following morning, she put out from Rash Emekh and made for the island of Terabinthia.

The wind was with them, and their course was true. Captain Diarmuid and all the mermen on his crew were sailors of great skill, for the sea was literally in their blood. The days passed quickly, and Pete's health, though it didn't much improve, at least didn't get any worse. He was still enervated and pale, but at least he was up and about as often as possible. Penelope, on the other hand, got the worst of it, for the tossing of the waves made her constantly sea-sick. The weather was by all accounts mild and ideal for sailing, but the centauress had to spend most of the journey with her head hanging over the gunwale. And when the great boat heaved and listed, she would slide one way or the other on her hooves, little able to find any footing. In short, though she had more legs than anybody else aboard the ship, none of them were proper sea-legs.

At night, the sea-folk would gather on the decks and sing songs. They weren't the bawdy sea-shanties that you might expect from sailors, though. Far from it. They songs they sang were wordless and haunting, like melodious wind. Pete could only describe them as "siren songs." They tugged at the heartstrings and invoked pure emotion. They reminded Pete of Taraiel.

Penelope and Cynthia were given a cabin in the aft section of the stern, for the sake of the females' privacy. Pete, Lumpkin, and Phineas were made to sleep on the lower deck, along with much of the crew. They made themselves as comfortable as possible, considering the circumstances. As it happened, though, Penelope simply couldn't sleep in a cabin. It wasn't that the cabin was too cramped for a centaur, but rather, that being enclosed seemed only to aggravate her motion-sickness. She much preferred to be up on deck, where she could quickly run to the side of the ship if need be. The contents of a centaur's stomach, after all, could be prodigious in volume—no matter which way they traveled.

This worked out rather well for Cynthia, who by now was in the habit of disappearing with Phineas whenever the two of them could slip away to be alone together. After a couple of days, Penelope stopped visiting "her" cabin altogether, out of fear that she might interrupt something that she wasn't supposed to.

As for Lumpkin, he was most frequently in the galley. It quickly became something of a joke among the merrow-folk that their smallest passenger could eat more hardtack and drink more grog than anybody else aboard the ship. This unusual talent made the dwarf a favorite with the crew, and he came to enjoy their company quite as much.

Thus did the _Dawn Treader_ sail for a week and more, ever eastward, following a steady course that the captain had plotted, first for Terebintha, and then onto the mer-people's Isles.


	27. Chapter 27

ONE evening, long after the crewmen of the _Dawn Treader_ had finished their nightly carousing and retired to bed, Penelope wandered alone on the upper deck. She spied Pete sitting above the forecastle, near the bow. She approached quietly and leaned on the forward gunwale, but she didn't say anything. She just waited for Pete to speak.

"Something wrong with your cabin, Penny?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes. It's presently occupied by a nymph and a satyr, erm, doing…"

"Doing what they've been doing at least since Tashbaan, if not further back," said Pete. "The horizontal mamb—"

"Yes, thank you, I don't need another unsolicited mental image," said Penelope quickly.

"Ah. Almost walked in on them at the wrong moment, eh?" chuckled Pete.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Well, it happened to all of us at least once in college."

"Be that as it may," said Penelope, "I much prefer to remain above deck." Another couple of minutes passed in tense silence. Then Penelope said, "Lord Peter?"

Pete just stared at her.

"I mean… Pete. You once told me that if I ever needed to speak to you, you would listen."

"Yeah. I did say that, didn't I?"

"You did. So, please, listen to me now, and do not interrupt. I feel that I must…," Penelope swallowed before continuing, "take responsibility for my actions. In Tashbaan, I was reckless, and I charged at Count Serpens before you could destroy him with your blasting-fire. It was my—"

"Don't… go there, Penny. I said that I didn't want to hear it."

"It's my fault that Queen Taraiel died! I should have—"

Pete interrupted by pounding his fist on the deck. " _I_ shouldn't have split us up. I shouldn't have had us go after Serpens like that. Shoulda, woulda, coulda… The war hasn't even started yet, Penny. But we're both going to lose more people that we care about before this thing is all over."

Penelope knew exactly who Pete was talking about. It wasn't just Taraiel and Cyrus he meant. Many others had already died, and many more would follow them before the White Witch was defeated. "I understand," she said.

"You know, you got hit pretty hard in that fight yourself," said Pete. "I'm really glad that you didn't die too."

Penelope was nonplussed, but she managed to reply, "Um… I'm glad of that too."

Pete nodded, but he said nothing more. He just went back to looking at the sea.

* * *

Pete was continually plagued by nightmares these days. In fact, they were a nightly occurrence now, as regular as clockwork. They typically involved Count Serpens gloating over a helpless Pete. _"Soon,"_ he would say, _"soon you will join me in everlasting undeath…"_ But sometimes, he would dream about Jill instead. Not about Jada, the Green Witch of Narnia; but about Jillian Greene. He would dream that she had been real, and that he was home, with his life, his job, and his family. Those were by far the most painful dreams of all.

* * *

When the _Dawn Treader_ was but two days out from Terebinthia, another ship was spied on the horizon. She was Calormene by the looks of her, but she didn't fly the colors of the empire. Indeed, her mast had neither flag nor banner. As soon as this ship came into view, it changed course—bearing straight for the _Dawn Treader_. The lookout gave warning from the crow's nest. (As to how the merman sailors managed to climb rigging, Pete never did figure it out, but manage it they did.) Captain Diarmuid had a spyglass handy, and he used it to observe the other vessel. "A Calormene ship-of-the-line," he said, "but they've no… wait… they're running a flag up their mast. A pirate flag!"

Pete and the Narnians were nearby, and Pete asked, "May I?" The captain handed him the spyglass, and the human sighted in the other ship. Through the glass, he saw that two flags now fluttered from atop its mast: the first, a black flag with two crossed scimitars of white; and the second, a snowflake on a field of icy blue. "Not pirates," he said. "Privateers. Mercenaries working for the White Witch."

Diarmuid took back the spyglass and said, "If that be true, milord, these Calormene bilge-rats pose a particular danger to ye and yer mission, aye?"

"Yeah, s'pose so," said Pete.

"Argh, well, that being the case, we'll just have to slip past and outrun 'em," said the captain. "Mayhap our hold is full o' cargo, but if it's a race they want, I'd still bet on the _Treader_ over a Calormene ship, any day." Diarmuid turned to the sailors and shouted, "Isn't that right, lads?" and the mermen answered back with cheers and shouts of "Aye-aye, Cap'n!" and "For the Sea-Kingdom!"

"But if they catch up and board us, it'll come to a fight," said Pete. "I'm going to need to borrow a sword again." He had lost his elven blade in Tashbaan, after all.

"I think not," interrupted Penelope. "You're too ill, Pete. You can barely stand, let alone hold a weapon! You should stay below decks until we get away from them."

But Pete wouldn't hear of it, and even though he really was far too weak to fight, he took up a cutlass and waited on deck with his friends. Diarmuid gave the order, and the crew unfurled the sails to their fullest. With all sheets to the wind, the _Dawn Treader_ picked up speed. The race was on.

* * *

The Calormene ship pursued the _Dawn Treader_ for a full day and night, neither gaining nor losing on its prey. Yesterday, Pete had taken the opportunity the spy on the enemy ship further with the captain's telescope, and he saw that it was crewed by jinn in black clothes and masks, like the assassins who had attacked them in the Calormene desert. "It's the guys in the ninja costumes again," he told his friends. "Hmm. Jinn ninjas. Jinnjas? Or maybe… nin-jinn…"

"Oh, marvelous," Phineas had complained. "Now he's going to spend the rest of the day trying to decide which clever nickname to use for our adversaries." And Cynthia and Lumpkin had enjoyed a good laugh at the human's expense. Penelope hadn't thought it proper and had tried her best to hide any amusement. Pete was good sport, though, and hadn't minded at all.

Today, however, the wind slackened a bit, and as the island of Terebinthia came into view, the privateer ship slowly closed the gap between itself and the _Dawn Treader_. "Perhaps she'll back off the chase if she sees that we're well armed," said Captain Diarmuid, who ordered all able archers to the deck and instructed them to be ready with arrows. Phineas, Cynthia, and Lumpkin added their own bows to the count.

Pete, though, disagreed with the captain. "In Calormen, they fought us to the death," he said. "They won't back off."

The ship came ever closer, and eventually, she entered arrow-range. Cynthia and Phineas were the first to loose their darts, and on the other ship, two of the black-robed buccaneers fell dead. Then he jinn assassins and the merrow sailors were exchanging full volleys of missiles, but by and large, the arrows fell short of their marks. On both sides, arrows only landed in the water or embedded themselves in the hulls of either ship. A few more volleys came from each side, but then the distance between the ships grew again, and a shout came down from the crow's nest: "Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy! 'Tis the Queen's Navy!"

And sure enough, from Terebinthia came sailing another ship, a great man-o-war, and this was an Islander ship. It belonged to the sea-people. And the very sight of it drove off the Calormene ship. The jinn privateers tacked their boat into the wind and fled—while the navy ship turned to escort the _Dawn Treader_ safely into port.

* * *

The Island of Terebinthia was centrally located between Narnia, Calormen, and the Island Kingdom. As such, it was something of a trading hub between the three nations, despite the fact that it was properly a province belonging to the Islanders, the mer-people. When the _Dawn Treader_ put in at the docks, Pete and the others debarked and found themselves in the midst of an immense and bustling market-town. By far, most of the people here were either merfolk or jinn, but Narnians of all races could be seen as well. Pete spied several dwarves, a couple of centaurs, some goblins and harpies, and even a minotaur. But then Pete saw half a dozen Red Dwarves, their legs chained together with manacles, being pushed and prodded through the crowd by a Black Dwarf and a hobgoblin. "What's going on here?" Pete asked.

"'Tis the slave-market they're bound for," said Captain Diarmuid. "Narnian exiles they be, and most likely they'll find their way into the hold of a Calormene galley."

Pete punched his fist into his palm and swore, "God _damn_ it." There was one good thing, at least, about everybody wanting to make him a king someday: if he ever succeeded in freeing Narnia and taking the throne, then, maybe, he would be able to put a stop to all this.

"We do what little we can, of course," said Diarmuid. "The _Dawn Treader,_ for example. Her hold is full o' gold at the moment. 'Tis my aim to buy what slaves I can—"

Pete turned to face Diarmuid and said angrily, "You're going to _buy slaves_?"

The merman put his hands up and said to Pete in hushed tones, "It be not what ye think, Lord Peter! Our business be to buy as many as we can and turn 'em free! We smuggle 'em to Redhaven, in the Seven Isles, to keep 'em safe from Jadis and the slavers!"

"You free them?" whispered Pete. He realized that Diarmuid wanted to avoid being overheard.

"Aye," said the captain.

"But… where did the gold come from?" asked Pete. "This 'business' of yours doesn't sound like it has much profit in it."

"We keep what gold we need to get by," said Diarmuid. "It comes from prize-ships. We take them at sea when we can, especially if they fly the flag o' Jadis."

"You're a privateer?"

"Argh, no!" said Diarmuid with a hearty laugh. "If Queen Morrigan had her way with me, sure'n I'd hang from a gibbet like any other honest pirate!"

"Pirate with a heart of gold," corrected Pete, grinning. "You're a regular a Robin Hood. Han Solo. Jack Sparrow. No, wait, forget that last one…"

Captain Diarmuid said, "I ken not what ye mean, milord, but if 'tis a compliment, I'll take it with pride!"

* * *

While Diarmuid and his crew unloaded the _Dawn Treader's_ hold and went about their business, the rebels from Narnia explored the port-town on Terebinthia's southern shore. Everywhere they looked, they saw Narnian slaves and gloating slave-traders; Calormens and Islanders counting stacks of coins; the intersection of commerce and misery. "I can't believe that the Sea-Queen just lets this happen," said Pete. "I sure as hell wouldn't."

"And for that, we're glad," said Lumpkin. "But, realistically, until a crown sits upon your head… I'm afraid, my lord, that there is very little we can do about it."

"Is there?" said Pete. Since they had arrived on Terebinthia and witnessed the slave-market first hand, Pete had been thinking. Planning. Anticipating. "I wonder who's in charge of all this."

"My guess would be them," offered Cynthia. She pointed to a raised dais with a canopy-roof for shade, a kind of spectator's box overlooking the slave-market. Below, auctioneers paraded chained Narnians across wooden platforms, while bidders, mostly Calormenes, offered coin for flesh. Above, in the shade-covered box, two figures watched the proceedings. One was a jinn, tall and slender, with a pointy beard, a jeweled turban, and silken robes. The other was a mermaid, pudgy in face and figure, with blue hair wound into a mass of braids, and a complicated pink dress that seemed all frills, folds, bows, and ribbons.

They seemed to be truly enjoying themselves.

"You're probably right," said Pete. "Yeah. I bet they're the ones in charge, all right."

"You're planning something," said Penelope.

"You bet your horsey ass I'm planning something," said Pete. "How much influence do you think the White Witch has over what goes on here?"

"Given that she's doubtlessly the primary source of the, erm, the merchandise," said Phineas, "a great deal of influence, I should think."

"Let's hope so," said Pete. "Lumpkin, you're a pretty good blacksmith, right?"

"Uh… why, yes, I suppose. I am a Red Dwarf, after all."

"Do you think that you could make me a suit of armor?" said Pete.

"What for?" said Penelope. "You couldn't possibly be thinking of fighting your way in and—"

Pete waved both his hands and shook his head. "No, no. It doesn't need to be real armor. It's just got to look scary. Black cast-iron, like the stuff Count Serpens wears."

"In that case," said Lumpkin, "if it's only for looks and doesn't need to function, I could have something made for you in a day or so. Assuming, of course, that I had an adequate supply of iron and a working forge. I have neither."

"We'll deal with that in a moment," said Pete. "First, all of you, tell me how I look. And be _really_ honest."

The Narnians all got a good look at their leader, and the appraisal was surprising. He was ghost-white and sickly, with red splotches under baggy eyes. When his mouth was open, they could see that his gums were emaciated and receding, making his teeth (and particularly his canines) look longer, more like fangs. "Honestly," said Cynthia, "you look like death warmed over."

"That's what I figured," said Pete. "I _feel_ terrible. And if I look anything like I feel, well, then… good. Because that's exactly what we need right now. Here's what I have in mind…"


	28. Chapter 28

THAT night, a dark figure stalked the port-town of Terebinthia. Pale and worn, with red eyes and sharp teeth, clad in black iron mail, he looked like the very avatar of death. The island folk—mostly merrows, but also people of many other races—hastened to clear a path for this agent of fear. They turned away or scurried off, just to avoid his wicked sneer and his terrifying, glassy-eyed gaze. Narnians were especially quick to flee or cower, for they knew a servant of Jadis when they saw one.

"It's all in the eyes," Pete whispered to himself. "Confidence. I can do this." Earlier that day, thanks to a favor called in by Captain Diarmuid, Lumpkin had been able to forge a suit of black armor with the help of the local blacksmith. It wasn't real armor. In fact, it was practically paper-thin, and good thing, because if it were any heavier than it already was, Pete wouldn't have had the strength to move while wearing it.

The slave-market was empty now, cleared of stock and bidders for the night. On the far side of the field, there stood a large tent of purple silk. Phineas and Cynthia had spent most of the day spying on the two individuals who had watched the slave-auctions from the dais. According to them, this tent was where the jinn stayed. The mermaid, meanwhile, had an actual house on the island somewhere, probably on the beach. A bit of asking around in the port-town had revealed their names: Ranakeet Tarkaan, merchant of Calormen; and the Lady Aribeth, Governor of Terebinthia.

Pete kept all of this information fresh in his mind as he crossed the open lot and approached the tent. There were guards outside. Calormenes. They moved to block his path, but Pete just called up all the contempt and condescension that he could, and he gave the guards a withering glare. They hesitated. Now, Pete knew, it was time to see if this deception could work. He affected a snooty British accent (because villains in movies always have them) and said, "Why are you fools just standing there? One of you, announce me to the Tarkaan."

The guards looked at one another confusedly, until one of them disappeared into the tent. Pete waited with a smug smirk on his face, though on the inside he could only pray that the guards didn't decide to pull something. Eventually, the one guard emerged from the tent, stood aside, and silently nodded his head to Pete. He pointed at the tent-flap, and Pete pushed his way inside.

The interior of the tent was opulent to the point of disgust. Piles of rugs, furs, and pillows lined the ground. Silk scarves hung from the walls in great number. One table had been set with a feast, a roast duck and bowls of oranges and coconuts and puddings and wines. Next to this table stood two meek-looking nymphs, green-haired dryads with their eyes downcast, both clad in skimpy harem-garb. A second table was piled with gold coins, some stacked and counted, others scattered in lose heaps. Next to this stood Ranakeet Tarkaan and the Lady Aribeth, running their fingers through the gold and laughing all the while. Pete wasn't sure whether he should be more disgusted by their misanthropic villainy, or by the whole money-grubbing cliché. He cleared his throat. "Ahem."

The two slave-traders looked up and saw Pete. Lady Aribeth simply sniffed and looked on curiously, but Ranakeet Tarkaan paled visibly.

"Do you know who I am?" said Pete.

"I don't!" said Lady Aribeth. "What gives you the right to come in here and—"

But Ranakeet hushed her quickly and said, "Yes, I know who you are. You are Lord Serpens, Count of Cair Parvel and Champion of Jadis." At these words, Lady Aribeth quailed and moved behind the Tarkaan.

Pete, though, hadn't planed on impersonating Serpens. He had hoped to pass himself off as some other vampire working for Queen Jadis. This… was a fortunate turn of events. It could make his job easier. "Then you know what kind of authority I wield," he said. "As the proxy for Her Majesty, the great Queen of Narnia, my words are her words in any negotiation."

The Tarkaan gulped and nodded. "Yes, of course. We… negotiations? What negotiations?"

"Ah," said Pete, grinning wolfishly and showing his teeth. "To the business at hand, then." Here, he reached into a satchel and produced a document, a royal missive from Queen Jadis. (In truth, it had been skillfully forged by Cynthia, and so it looked more than authentic.) Pete handed the scroll to the Tarkaan and said, "As you may have heard, war is brewing between Narnia and Archenland. The Queen desires that every able body join the war-effort, and the slaves in this market are to be purchased back and pressed into Her Majesty's service."

"Purchased back?" snapped Lady Aribeth. She seemed to have recovered her courage, and she slithered slimily around the Tarkaan to look Pete in the face. "We don't give refunds!"

"Oh, you'll be appropriately compensated, of course," said Pete. "I trust that the _Queen of Narnia_ has good credit here. Presuming, of course, that you would like your operations to continue in the future… _unmolested._ "

"Of course, of course!" said the Tarkaan, elbowing the portly mermaid out of the way. "How many slaves do you require?"

"Why… all of them," said Pete, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "They are to be transported back to Narnia at once, to be dropped off at the mouth of the Glasswater, on the south shore. I can promise that you will both turn a handsome profit for this transaction, Tarkaan, Lady."

The fear in the eyes of the jinn and the mermaid was suddenly replaced by the purest avarice, and Lady Aribeth's demeanor changed all at once. She slid up to Pete and bowed gracefully, all the while balancing on her scaly tail. "Your wishes are as commands to us, my Lord Serpens. It shall be done at once."

"Good," said Pete. "You've made a very wise decision. Good night to you both." With a curt nod to each of the slave-traders, and a sly wink aimed at two very confused dryads, Pete turned and left the tent.

* * *

The next morning saw a mass emigration of Calormene ships from Terebinthia. Once word had gotten out that all of the slaves had been purchased, and no more auctions would be held for some time to come, all of the Calormene traders pulled up their stakes and left in a hurry. All the slaves in the market, meanwhile, were herded onto Islander ships for transport back to Narnia. Pete had ordered them taken to the mouth of the Glasswater, a river in the south of Narnia. It was a sparsely populated region, and about as far from any stronghold of Jadis as one could hope. Pete had single-handedly disrupted the whole Terebinthian slave-trade, and he had given all the slaves this one shot at freedom, however slight it might be. Hopefully, it would be enough.

For Pete, it was his good deed for the week. He had collapsed from exhaustion last night, not long after leaving the Tarkaan's tent, and now he slept soundly in a room at the port-town's best inn. He was awakened by an angry pounding on the door of his room. Groggy, his muscles aching from the burden of wearing armor last night, he pulled himself out of the bed and opened the door.

Captain Diarmuid stood in the hallway, a scowl on his face. "What have ye done?" he said.

"I played a little prank on the slave-traders," said Pete. "And I bought all the slaves in the market."

Diarmuid stared, open-mouthed. "Ye bought… all…?"

Pete nodded. "Yep. All of 'em. And I'm having them shipped back home to Narnia."

The merman gaped. "Back to…?"

"Don't worry," said Pete. "It's a safe place they're heading for. I think. And if they're smart, they'll run away and hide as soon as they can. It's the best we can do for them right now."

Diarmuid's face broke into a grin, and a deep chuckle rumbled forth from his lungs. "Lord Peter, ye… ye…" Quite at a loss for words, the merman grabbed Pete in a crushing embrace.

All of the wind was expelled from Pete, and he wheezed, "Okay… ouch…"

* * *

Their business in Terebinthia concluded, the crew of the _Dawn Treader_ set sail that day for the Seven Isles. Once again the wind was at their backs, and the sailors were in high spirits after witnessing the slave-market suddenly empty itself that morning. The Narnian rebels were particularly elated, and they congratulated Pete on the success of his cunning plan.

"I can't believe it worked!" said Cynthia, once they had left the island far behind. "Peter, you must have been magnificent!"

"Indeed," said Phineas, "a most clever deception. I never would have thought of it."

"You've done a grand thing," said Lumpkin. "Stories will be told of this day!"

Pete was still feeling groggy. The sensation hadn't subsided since this morning. In fact, he was too dizzy to stand up straight, and so he sat on a coil of rope near the port-side gunwale. "Groovy," he said weakly. "Glad I thought of it."

Captain Diarmuid approached and said, "We should make the Seven Isles in a tenday, and the Lone Isles another ten after that."

Pete nodded. "Hey, Captain," he said. "You said that if Queen Morrigan caught you, she'd hang you. Is it safe for you, going to the Lone Isles?"

"No, not exactly safe," said Diarmuid, "but as long as I avoid Narrowhaven, I'll not be caught. We can part ways at Felimath Island, and all will be well for me and mine."

Still only half-awake, Pete giggled. "What did you do, Diarmuid? What made you _persona non grata_ in the capital?"

The merman winked at the Narnians and then said to Pete, "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell. Not even a gentleman pirate."

"Aha," said Pete, stumbling as he tried to stand up. Lumpkin and Phineas rushed to support him. "Aha. Girl trouble. I… know what that's like." He looked down at Lumpkin and mumbled, "Hey… Lumpy… old buddy. Where'd Penny go?"

The dwarf looked around, but he couldn't spot the centauress. "She was feeling sea-sick again, so she must have—"

But Pete interrupted him. "Sea-sick. Sounds good. Think… I'll join her." And then he leaned over the railing and decorated the port-side hull of the _Dawn Treader_ with his breakfast.

* * *

Pete didn't remember much after that. He recalled being removed to a cabin and placed in a bed. He remembered Cynthia standing overhead, telling the others that it was a fever, and that he would be in and out of consciousness until it broke. He remembered Lumpkin holding his hand, Phineas saying something friendly, and Penelope tenderly stroking his sweat-soaked brow. But of the Seven Isles, and what happened at Redhaven on the isle of Brenn, he remembered nothing at all.

* * *

When the _Dawn Treader_ put in at Redhaven, almost a month had passed since leaving Rash Emekh. Pete was unconscious and couldn't go ashore, but the Narnians joined Captain Diarmuid in a seaside tavern called the Inn of the Dancing Dolphin. The captain drank rum; the Narnians, wine and ale. "This town," said Diarmuid, "is where we drop off most o' the freed slaves that we pull out of Terebintha. The ones from Narnia aren't especially eager to go back home, so they stay here for the most part." This was true enough. The population of Redhaven seemed evenly mixed between mer-people and the Narnian races. "It works out well for us Islanders," Diarmuid continued, "because these islands have high mountains and deep mines with plenty o' gold and riches in 'em. And we sea-people can stand on the land when we need to, but we're next to useless in rough mountains."

"So what do you do?" asked Cynthia.

"We give the mines to the dwarves," said Diarmuid. "That way, they have a home free from Jadis, and a trade to support themselves… and the Sea Kingdom can buy what they dig up."

"Are there many dwarves here?" asked Lumpkin.

"Very many," nodded Diarmuid. "Red Dwarves, to the last of 'em, I should think. They have a town o' their own up in the mountains of Muil Island. Pyrstead, they call it. Would ye like to visit it?"

Lumpkin seemed unsure, though, and he hesitated to answer.

"You should visit your people," said Phineas.

"If you do not, you will regret it," added Penelope. "Believe one who knows. You _will_ regret it, for all your days."

Lumpkin sighed. "I cannot. The Red Dwarves cast me out. I want nothing to do with them!" He pushed away from the others and left the tavern.

* * *

Lumpkin walked alone through the cobble-paved streets of Redhaven. He was angry with himself. He knew that he was being selfish and cowardly. He didn't want to face his people, because he was afraid to meet their scorn again. And yet, he knew, Lord Peter needed help. He needed soldiers, and Red Dwarves could fight. They would rally to the Son of Adam. He _had_ to meet with them. He had to persuade his people to join Lord Peter. That settled it.

He asked around the town, until one of the sea-women told him of a ferry that ran between Brenn and Muil. "Not many dwarves living here in Redhaven," commented the merrow-maid. "They all work the mines on Muil Island, near Pyrstead."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," said Lumpkin, biting back his exasperation. "Just tell me where the ferry is."

"Of course," the mermaid went on, "there is _one_ dwarf who stayed on Brenn, I suppose because she's a Black Dwarf, and the Red Dwarves don't like her very much. It's a good thing she did, though, because she helps us keep the peace. A better warrior than any Islander that I've ever seen, and make no mistake."

Lumpkin rolled his eyes at the chatty mermaid and said, "Well obviously, a dwarf is going to… wait. Did you say 'she?'"

"Oh, aye," said the mermaid. "Captain of the Redhaven Watch she is, by the skill of her sword. Nabbed a pickpocket and broke up two tavern brawls just this past week! Why, she—"

"Her name, woman! What's her name?" interrupted Lumpkin.

"Her name? Oh. It's Brenawen. Captain Brenawen, she is."

Lumpkin gasped, turned around, and took off running down the street. He didn't even thank the mermaid for the information. For her part, the mermaid was a little shocked at how impolite these foreigners from Narnia could be.

* * *

Lumpkin ran through the streets of Narrowhaven, until he found the office of the watch. A pair of mermen stood outside the building, spears in their hands and badges on their tunics. "Your captain!" cried Lumpkin, running up to them. "Where is she?"

One of the guards pointed to the office. "Inside. She sees appointments on Tuesday mornings between nine and eleven, unless you file a dispensation for—"

The dwarf just ignored the both of them and ran inside. The office was sparse, little more than a desk full of papers, a closet with a weapons-rack inside, and an empty gaol-cell with a single cot and a barred window. A clatter came from inside the closet, and a voice swore, "Fumes and ashes! They know I can't reach the swords when they hang them from the top shelf!"

Lumpkin recognized the voice. "Brenawen?" he said.

"Who's there? I don't have any appointments today. Is it Watch business? Has something happened?" Out of the closet came a dwarf woman with long, black hair. Crow's feet lined her eyes, and her face was a little care-worn, but she still had some semblance of the beauty she'd been graced with in her youth. Or so Lumpkin decided, anyway. Her hair was long and black, for she was a Black Dwarf, but streaks of silver ran through it. Her eyes were black as coal, and they stared at the visitor standing in the doorway. Brenawen gaped and searched for her voice. "L… Lumpkin?"

"Hello, Brenawen."

"Is it… is it really you?" The dwarf woman came forward to examine the newcomer's face.

"Yes. It is I. After all these years, I have found you at last!" Lumpkin ran forward and embraced the dwarf woman.

"Oh, my love!" said Brenawen, tears forming in her eyes. She kissed Lumpkin and said, "Where have you been all this time?"

"In Narnia," said Lumpkin. "I… didn't know where you were. I didn't know if you were alive or dead! But… it doesn't matter now. I have wonderful news!"

"Never mind that," said Brenawen. "All that matters is that you're here now! Oh, my Lumpkin, how I've missed you!" And they kissed again.

"But It's important," said Lumpkin a few moments later. "What I have to tell you… it's a miracle! The prophecies are coming true. The Son of Adam is here!"

"What?" said Brenawen. "Here? Now? In Redhaven?"

"Yes!" said Lumpkin. "And he means to overthrow the White Witch! It's war, and he needs soldiers! You were the finest warrior I'd ever met, my dearest, and I so I must ask, will you join us?"

"You follow the Son of Adam?" asked Brenawen.

Lumpkin nodded. "I shall follow him to the ends of the world."

"Then I must follow him as well, for I am never leaving your side!" proclaimed the Black Dwarf. "Now tell me, my darling, how you found me at long last!"

"That is a long story," said Lumpkin. "It begins at a lamppost…"


	29. Chapter 29

PETE awoke to find that he was bed-ridden and too weak to move. Judging from the toss of the cabin, they were still at sea. He didn't know what day it was, or where they were along their journey. He wanted to call out, but his throat was so parched that felt stuck shut. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"Shh. Don't speak. Just drink this."

Pete looked to the side and saw Cynthia holding a skin of water. Pete nodded and gratefully drank.

"Slowly," said Cynthia. "A little at a time, or you'll just cough it up again. We can try giving you some food a bit later, when your stomach is stronger."

Pete looked up at the dryad, with her green eyes and green hair and youthful beauty. She looked like springtime itself. "I'm dying," he said.

"Shh," whispered Cynthia again. "No. Don't say that. We'll find a way to cure this. There must be healers in Narrowhaven who can help."

"Narrowhaven?"

"We left the Seven Isles nearly a week ago. You've been suffering from a fever for many days." Cynthia bent down and kissed Pete on the cheek. "Oh, Peter, we were worried that we'd lose you before the end!"

Pete took another sip of water and swallowed tenderly. His breathing was ragged, and his eyes stared straight ahead at nothing, but he was more or less lucid and alert. "That… could still happen," he said. "I feel like crap."

"Good," said Cynthia. "Hold onto that. If you can feel anything at all, it means you're still alive."

Pete closed his eyes and laid back on the pillow. "You're a nice person, Cynthia," he mumbled. "Maybe I should've fallen in love with you, instead."

Cynthia smiled and breathed out a tiny laugh, even as she was wiping away a tear. "Well don't start now," she said wryly. "Or you'll disappoint Phineas so very much."

"I'm happy for you two," said Pete. "I really am."

"Be happy for Lumpkin as well," said the nymph. "When we were in Redhaven, he found his lost love."

Pete's eyes snapped open. "Really? That's a surprise."

"Yes it is," said Cynthia. "I suppose you'll want to meet her soon, since she decided to come with us."

* * *

Brenawen had informed Lumpkin, in no uncertain terms, that she had stayed in Redhaven by necessity, not choice. The Red Dwarves of Pyrstead simply wouldn't tolerate the company of a Black Dwarf, never mind that she too had been sold into slavery under the auspices of the White Witch. And so, after she had been rescued from the slave-market by one of Captain Diarmuid's many passes through Terebinthia, Brenawen had remained in Redhaven as a city guard, instead of moving into the mountains with the other dwarves. Lumpkin decided, based on this knowledge, that it might be too soon to try and recruit the dwarves of Pyrstead to their cause. Perhaps, he thought, it would be best to wait until Lord Peter was well again. Then the human could do it himself, and the Red Dwarves would be more likely to listen. That was Lumpkin's justification, at least, for leaving the Seven Isles with only Brenawen added to their company. This brought their number up to six once again, for even though Pete was incapacitated, he was still the Son of Adam and their leader.

When Pete awakened, Cynthia was quick to inform the others. Soon enough, they all showed up to welcome him back to the land of the living. Phineas and Penelope, Lumpkin and Brenawen, and even Captain Diarmuid, all paid their respects. When Pete saw Brenawen for the first time, he asked her, "So, you and Lumpkin, huh? What do you see in him, exactly?"

Lumpkin's face turned bright red, but Brenawen smiled and said, "Well, to be honest, he was better-looking when we were younger… but he's also very sweet, and quite clever when he needs to be. And, you know what they say: we can't choose who we fall in love with."

"No, we can't," agreed Pete. "Well… I'm glad you two kids found each other again. Not everyone gets a second chance. Don't waste it."

"We don't intend to, my lord," said Lumpkin. "In fact, I've asked the lovely Brenawen to marry me at once, and she has consented!"

Pete sat up in the bed when he heard that. "You're getting hitched? Congratulations! My boy Lumpkin, give me five!" The human held out his hand with the fingers spread out.

Everybody in the cabin, squeezed uncomfortably together like canned sardines as they were, stared at Pete's hand. "Um… five of what?" asked Lumpkin.

Pete looked down at his open hand, and then he used it to smack himself in the forehead. "I deserve that for not explaining first," he said.

* * *

That evening, precisely at sundown, Captain Diarmuid officiated a wedding between a Red Dwarf and a Black Dwarf. Lumpkin and Brenawen became husband and wife, while Pete and the other rebels stood witness. The ceremony was a simple affair, performed aboard ship as it was, but no one had any complaints. Certainly, Lumpkin and Brenawen just wanted to be married as soon as possible, and it was obvious to everybody that time and distance had not dimmed their love for each other.

Pete had felt strong enough to stand by the groom at the wedding. Even if he hadn't, he probably would've insisted that they prop him up on the deck until the ceremony was done. There was no way that he would miss Lumpkin getting married! During the event, he had nudged Phineas with his elbow and whispered, "Wedding bells are in the air. I wonder which one of us takes the plunge next?"

The faun had only become flustered and turned crimson at that. And Phineas's embarrassment was amusing to no end for Pete. Today, Pete thought to himself, it was a good day to be alive.

* * *

The Lone Isles—Felimath, Avra, and Doorn. Each of these islands rose from the sea to a different elevation. Felimath, for example, was high and mountainous. The only people who lived here were merrow-folk who herded sheep. (It might seem strange to you that sea-people would even consider shepherding, but the fact was, they had been practicing this kind of husbandry for quite a long time. At first, they only herded great fish underneath the waves, but as they had colonized the islands within the borders of their maritime realm, they discovered the many advantages to life on dry land. Advantages like cooking with fire, writing with ink and paper, and even keeping sheep.) Doorn, on the other hand, was mostly flat for an island, and this was quite amenable to the mer-people's monopedal method of above-water locomotion. It was here, in a natural harbor behind a lagoon, that the Islanders had built their capital, the port city of Narrowhaven.

Like everywhere in the Island Kingdom, the merfolk of Narrowhaven lived by sailing, trading, and fishing (which merfolk regard in much the same way that you or I might think of hunting and trapping). Those that didn't live above the water still dwelt on the island, on the sandy slopes beneath sea-level, for this was where the waters were warm and more or less safe. Needless to say, seafood was the staple of daily life in the Sea Kingdom, though the merfolk also enjoyed the fruits of the land that their islands produced.

As Captain Diarmuid had suggested, the _Dawn Treader_ stopped at remote Felimath to let off her six passengers. The Narnians and the ship's crew had kept each other's company for more than five weeks now, and they were all very sorry to part ways at last. After so much time, Captain Diarmuid had come feel like one of the Narnians' boon companions, and if he could have gone with them, he would have. But he had his ship, his crew, and the responsibilities that came with them—to say nothing of his prudent avoidance of Narrowhaven—and so, the two parties said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Diarmuid and the mermen boarded the _Dawn Treader_ and set on a course back south and west, to return to the Seven Isles; while the Narnians set out overland, to cross the rugged, grassy heights of Felimath Island.

* * *

On the other side of Felimath, a raft ferried dry goods between all the islands. The sea-people didn't need it for themselves, of course, but it was a necessity for transporting anything that didn't tolerate seawater very well. That category just happened to include Narnians, so we can only imagine the surprise of the ferryman at seeing six land-travelers appear on his dockside to request passage to Doorn Island! The raft-pilot was an elderly, blue-bearded merman who could only stand up with the aid of crutches anymore, but he seemed nimble enough when plying the ferry.

When the Narnian rebels arrived on the opposite shore, they thanked the ferryman and offered to pay him, but he refused. The story alone would keep the Felimathians entertained for a week, he said, and that was worth its weight in gold. So, the Narnians left him to his own devices, and they tramped as one along the beach until Narrowhaven came into view.

Narrowhaven: now _here_ was a sight to behold! The city seemed all marble, with grand spires and towers and bridges, and everything was of brilliant white, highlighted in pastel pinks and blues. The city sat precisely on the shoreline, partly in the water and partly on the land—not unlike the merrow-folk themselves. Some of the buildings were high and dry, while others only had their rooftops poking up from the shallows, and this state of affairs probably changed throughout the day as the tides ebbed and flowed. Every building seemed to be decorated with pearls and colorful seashells. Narrowhaven was a beautiful city, and a fitting capital for one of the four great nations.

They entered the city via a straight path that led through the dry, higher ground. There were no gates or defensive walls, for indeed, why would the Islanders ever need them? But Pete did notice that there were dikes and dams throughout the city that kept the tides at bay and made sure that certain quarters were always dry. Even still, all of this had been built upon sand—wet sand, no less. It was an engineering marvel that had Pete both stumped and awed.

The palace was situated in the center of the city, and the main dike seemed to run through the base of it. The upper levels of the palace were buttressed well above the high-tide line, and a causeway ran from the grounds above the beach to the palace gates, like a bridge that overlooked and bypassed the whole of the city.

When word of the Narnians' arrival reached the ears of the mer-queen Morrigan, she admitted them at once into her throne room. And so, that very day saw Pete, Lumpkin and Brenawen, Penelope, Phineas, and Cynthia standing before the monarch of the Island Kingdom. Queen Morrigan was neither young nor beautiful, though "handsome" and "stately" would both be apt descriptors. She certainly carried herself in a regal and dignified manner. She wore a billowing gown of aquamarine and white, with a long train of cloth that followed her tail-fin when she slid over the ground. The front of the gown was open, though, displaying the turquoise scales on the underbelly of her fishtail. Strings of pearls were woven into the queen's gray-green hair, which she wore up. Her voice was commanding and bewitching at the same time. "So _this_ is the famous Son of Adam," she said. "Forgive me for asking, Lord Peter, but… are you quite well?"

Now Pete knew perfectly well that anybody with two brain-cells to rub together could see that he was in bad shape. So, for his part, he wondered if the queen were intentionally trying to goad or insult him for some reason. "Me? I'm fine," he said. "I just had a bite that didn't agree with me."

Penelope stepped forward and said, "Our apologies, Your Majesty, but Lord Peter is being facetious. He—"

Pete raised his hand and said, "It's one of the things I do best."

"—He has indeed fallen ill," the centauress continued, "and after our business here is concluded, he really must be taken to receive the aid of healers."

"By all means, let it be done," said the queen. "We have excellent healers in Narrowhaven: bards, whose spell-songs call to the Deep Magic on the far eastern shore of this very ocean."

A medley of gasps ran through the Narnian party. "The tales are true, then?" said Lumpkin.

"I'd only heard stories," added Brenawen, shaking her head in amazement.

"But… the country to the east… is Aslan's country," said Phineas.

Cynthia and Pete shared a poignant look, for among those present, only she had witnessed Pete's meeting with Aslan. "If that's all true," said Pete, "then these bards are probably the only people around here who can cure me."

"Oh, they are, I assure you," said Queen Morrigan. "I know the effects of an evil curse when I see them, Lord Peter, and you can trust me when I tell you, ordinary medicine cannot help you now. Only at my command, Son of Adam, can your life be saved."

Pete didn't like the sinister turn that the queen's speech had suddenly taken—not one little bit. "At your command?" he repeated. "You… want something from me?"

"I do," said the queen.

"Something in exchange for my life," said Pete, who was now suitably appalled at Morrigan.

"Precisely," said the queen. "You know, you're rather more intelligent than one would guess, judging by reputation and appearances alone."

"Yeah, I'm all full of surprises," said Pete sarcastically. "You should see me pitch a knuckle-ball."

Queen Morrigan threw her head back in a laugh and said, "You sound as if I were trying to take advantage of you, Peter! Do not underestimate your good fortune until you've at least heard the terms of the bargain I have in mind." The queen was laughing, but her eyes were as hard as steel. There was no fooling around with this woman, and the human knew it.

Pete began to feel sick, and he slumped down onto the floor. Lumpkin and Penelope knelt down at once to help him, but Pete shrugged them off. "Let's hear it," he said to the queen, the venom in his voice completely undisguised.

"The deal is simple: I will allow the Bards of Narrowhaven to free you from the curse that ravages your body, and thereby save your life. In exchange, you will grant my daughter, the Princess Cliodhna, your hand in marriage." The queen smiled warmly at Peter and added, "Long live Narnia's once and future king."


	30. Chapter 30

PETE couldn't believe what he was hearing. Of all the shocking things that he had seen and heard since arriving in this bizarre world, the cake-taker had to be Queen Morrigan of the Sea Kingdom, offering Pete his life in exchange for his bachelorhood.

"Let me get this straight," said Pete, standing up off the ground. "You want me— _me_ , Pete Pevensie from Brooklyn, New York—to marry your daughter."

The queen nodded. "It is a good match."

"A good…?" Pete stared at the queen. Then he snickered. Then he burst out laughing. "How screwed up is _that_? Lady, since I came to this world, I've been beat up, shot at, dragged around, captured, tortured, bitten, cursed, mind-raped… I'm damaged goods! I mean, I'm sure that your princess is a really nice girl and all, but if the two of us are a 'good match,' then I've really got to ask, what in the hell is wrong with _her_?"

If the queen was shocked by Pete's tirade, she didn't show it. She kept her composure and said, "The only thing wrong is an unfortunate shortage of suitable men. My daughter requires a husband of royal blood."

Pete looked over at Penelope and shook his head sadly. "How come nobody ever gets the memo?" To the queen, he said, "You're in for a bit of a disappointment, Your Majesty. I don't have a drop of royal blood in me. We don't have kings and queens anymore where I come from."

"That doesn't matter," said Queen Morrigan. "You're a Son of Adam. A human being. That is as good as royalty! Only you can rightfully sit upon the throne of Narnia, and so you are eligible to marry my daughter."

"Uh… yeah, thanks, but no thanks. Really. I mean, I've got to hand it to you: it takes a genuine brass pair to make an offer like that. But… I'm the wrong person to ask. And I happen to know that one Tisroc Ardeeb III of Calormen is the most eligible royal bachelor on the market right now—"

"The Tisroc is an oaf and a barbarian," said the queen. "I could never subject my beloved Cliodhna to his boorish advances."

"But… I've never even met this princess. How could I just agree to marry her?"

"That's not so unusual among royalty," said the queen. "You are fated to become a king. Did you truly think that marrying for _love_ was ever an option?"

"Uh… yeah," said Pete. "Kinda."

"Oh. How quaint," said Queen Morrigan. "Of course, you will be introduced to the princess at your earliest convenience. Who knows? You might find that you like each other right away."

"And what if _she_ doesn't like _me_ very much?" said Pete. "What happens then?"

"It matters but little," said the queen. "She doesn't have a much of a choice. And from the looks of things, neither do you. You suffer from the curse of the vampire, do you not?"

Pete's head swam and he felt faint again, but Penelope held him up. Pete managed to nod. "Yes."

"I thought as much," said the queen. "I fear that you don't have long to live. I suggest you choose quickly."

Pete looked at his friends. Cynthia and Brenawen seemed horrified, but Lumpkin and Phineas both looked thoughtful. As for Penelope, she was scowling at the queen in open malice. "What do you guys think?" he asked.

Penelope gaped at Pete. "You cannot seriously be considering this! There must be another way to save your life—"

"But," said Phineas, "it _is_ an advantageous match. The future King of Narnia and the Princess of the Islands… and we could use the aid of the Islander Navy to assault Cair Paravel from the sea."

"You would have that aid and more," said the queen. "The resources of the Island Kingdom would be at your disposal."

For a while, nobody spoke.

Penelope said to Pete, with desperation in her voice, "We can find another way."

"I don't see any other way!" hissed Pete. He faced the queen and quietly said, "Deal."

"What was that?" asked the queen.

Pete spoke louder. "I said, you have a deal. Save my life… and I'll marry your daughter."

"Delightful!" said Queen Morrigan. "I'll fetch the Princess Cliodhna at once. You'll want to meet your new fiancée, after all!" The queen stood up from her throne and slithered up to Pete. "You've made the right decision, Lord Peter. Guards!" At the queen's command, a squadron of mermen armed with tridents snaked into the room. "These," she told them, "are our royal guests. See that they have whatever they desire, and make sure that no harm comes to any of them—especially Lord Peter. Keep a most careful watch on this Son of Adam."

* * *

Queen Morrigan went away to speak with her daughter, and the guards led Pete and the Narnians to a lavish suite of rooms in the palace. All the furniture here was carved from coral or stone and inlaid with seashells and mother-of-pearl. The view from the open balcony looked out on the ocean. The smell of salt spray and the cries of gulls filled the air.

When they were alone, Pete collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

"What do you think you're doing?" said Penelope. "This is a very bad idea!"

"Why would that be?" asked Lumpkin. "Phineas was right. A royal marriage to a princess of the Island Kingdom would forge a valuable alliance and add weight to Lord Peter's claim on the throne of Narnia. And we could certainly use the help of their navy…"

"Lumpkin, my husband, I'm astonished at you!" said Brenawen. "Lord Peter has just been asked to marry someone he doesn't even know, never mind love! Doesn't that matter to you?"

"Well, yes," said the dwarf, wringing his hands and shuffling his feet under the piercing gaze of his wife, "but I'm not royalty. This is a completely different situation!"

"Ever has it been the fate of kings and princesses to marry for convenience and not desire," said Phineas. "This is no different."

"Yes it is!" said Cynthia. "This is Peter we're talking about! You heard what he said: there _aren't_ any kings where he comes from! This custom of arranged marriages—it's perfectly ordinary to us, but it must sound positively barbaric to him!"

Pete listened while his friends debated his future and weighed his decision, but he chose this moment to interrupt. "It doesn't have anything to do with any of that," said Pete. "Royalty, alliances, whatever. This is all about one thing. Penny, you asked me what I think I'm doing? I'll tell you: I'm _saving my ass_. The queen can have me cured; she named her price; and I bought the deal. That's all there is to it."

Everybody fell silent and stared at Penelope. As for the centauress, she was glaring at Pete with fury in her eyes. "I would like a moment alone with our good lord, if you please," she said in her coldest tone.

"Of course," said Cynthia, who took Phineas by the hand and pulled him out of the room. Lumpkin and Brenawen followed, though they were both a little bit perplexed by Penelope's resistant attitude.

Once she was alone with Pete, Penelope said, "I have to tell you something, my lord. It's… rather embarrassing, and I wish that you wouldn't repeat for anyone the things that I must say to you now."

Pete rolled over in the bed and tried to sit up, but the best that he could manage was to prop his upper body on one arm. He grunted from the exertion and said, "You know you have my confidence, Penny. Whatever you say doesn't leave this room."

The centauress nodded, but she remained quiet, searching for the right words. "I… have always had some difficulty discussing my past," she began. "The memories are painful. I don't like to talk about my early life."

"This is about… before we met? When you were a soldier in the Witch's army?"

"Even before that," said Penelope. "It is about… how I came into the Witch's service. I grew up on the plains of Beruna, in centaur territory, and I lived there all my life. But when the time came for me to take a mate—to marry—I…"

"What happened?"

"First, my lord, understand that centaurs practice arranged marriages," said Penelope. "Females, especially, are expected to marry the males chosen by their fathers. My father chose a mate for me whom I did not love, and… and…"

"And you refused," said Pete.

"I ran away," said Penelope. "I fled. It was my only choice." She sighed. "With nowhere else to go, I was caught by one of the Witch's press-gangs and conscripted into her army. But by then, it didn't matter, because I had neglected my duty to my father and my family. I no longer have any honor among the centaurs of Beruna. I could never go back there."

"And that's why you couldn't elope with Cyrus," reasoned Pete. "Your people don't take it kindly if you back out of a done deal."

"Precisely so, my lord. Peter."

"So…" said Pete, breathing a weary sigh, "you know a little bit about this arranged marriage stuff. You know how it can go bad. What about when it works? Aren't most of your people happy when they get married?"

"Most of my people, Peter, are fortunate enough to have parents who take their wishes into consideration when arranging matches. _I..._ I was not so fortunate."

"Then… this whole mess I'm in… it hits kind of close to home for you," said Pete. "I get where you're coming from, Penny. Believe me, I do. But I can't see any way out. Maybe after the queen has me cured. If it even works. But for right now, we have to play along."

"I get the feeling," said Penelope, "that Her Majesty is deadly serious. If you make this 'bargain' of yours, and then fail to honor your side of it, I foresee no mercy from the Sea-Queen."

"I know what I'm getting into," said Pete, "and you know what the funny thing is? The more I think about it, the less I care."

"Peter… my lord? What do you mean?" said Penelope.

"I mean, Penny, that the odds of meeting another queen or princess that I could ever be in love with are looking pretty slim. Betting zero on a Vegas roulette table would give me a better a shot. So… if I've got to marry somebody royal, this Princess Cliodha sounds as good as any other."

"You can't mean that!" said Penelope. Then her face darkened and she growled, "…I see what this is about. You're still mourning Queen Taraiel. Still feeling sorry for yourself, instead of looking ahead to your future!"

"I'm trying to make sure that I actually _have_ a future!" said Pete. "If I don't do this, I'm gonna… I'm gonna turn into the _thing_ that killed Tara! I can't let that happen!" Pete rolled off the bed and fell to his knees in front of Penelope. He clutched the white knight's-tunic that draped down over the front of her armor and said, "I'm scared, Penny. I don't want to die, and I don't want to become like Count Serpens…"

Penelope nodded and looked into Pete's eyes. The human truly was terrified. She knelt down and clutched him in an embrace. "If… this is your decision, Peter, then I will respect it. I might not agree, but I will support you as I always have. As a friend should."

Pete pulled himself back up onto the bed. "You've been my _best_ friend through all this, Penny. Thank you."

The centauress nodded her acceptance. Then she went to speak with the other Narnians, leaving Pete alone in the bedroom.

* * *

Detective Peter Pevensie of New York, leader of the Rebel Alliance of Narnia, stood before Queen Morrigan of the Island Kingdom in her palatial throne room. Behind Pete stood his five Narnian companions, dressed in fresh regalia that the queen had provided to them. Pete himself wore a fine suit of satin clothes in colors of coral and soft blue, with a coral-toned cape that swished behind him as he walked. Opposite Pete, a mermaid stood on her turquoise fishtail, its scales the same color as the queen's. Her hair was a flowing mass of bright sea-green, and her eyes were of the same color. She was curvaceous and beautiful, with full lips and rose-pink cheeks. Above the waist, if one ignored the color of her hair and the gill-slits in her neck, she was more than perfectly human—she was one of the most gorgeous women that Pete had ever seen. Whereas Taraiel had been beautiful, Princess Cliodhna was _hot_. (Of course, from the waist down, her form was that of a finned sea-serpent, but still…) The princess wore a simple garment consisting of a pair of large scallop-shells that covered her bosom, with a drape of sheer green fabric that covered her midriff in theory only.

Pete and Cliodhna faced each other. Around them, the throne-room was packed with sea-people, various nobles and courtiers and soldiers, all present to bear witness to an historic moment. Pete stepped forward and whispered to the princess under his breath, "Hi. I'm Pete. We haven't really met, but will you marry me?"

Princess Cliodhna smiled. "What a romantic proposal," she said. "I'm so very sorry that my mother has done this to you."

"I should be the one apologizing," said Pete. "Look at me. You're the one who's got to say 'yes' to a walking cadaver in front of all these oh-so-very important mer-people."

The princess nodded. "I'll admit, I'd hoped you'd be better-looking. But… you're ill. I understand that. And my mother tells me that you'll improve quickly once you've been treated by our bards."

"I sure hope so," said Pete. "So… what do you want out of this?"

"What do _I_ want?" said Cliodhna. "I can't ever recall being asked that before… but since you pose the question, I want to be married, so that I can inherit the throne and become queen."

"You have to get married to inherit the throne?" asked Pete. "That's new. Nobody thought to mention that part to me."

"I have to marry someone of royal blood," said Cliodhna.

"So I'm your ticket to the throne, and you're my life-saver. Sounds like we both get something we want."

"Yes it does," said the mermaid princess.

"All right," said Pete. Raising his voice to normal tones, he knelt down in front of Princess Cliodhna, in front of Queen Morrigan, in front of his five companions, and in front of the Islander court. "Princess Cliodhna, will you do me the honor of giving me your hand in marriage?"

The princess smiled, and the loveliness of her face multiplied manifold. "Yes," she said. "I will."

The crowd of nobles applauded politely. Queen Morrigan came down off of her throne to kiss her daughter and future son-in-law. Peter and Cliodhna, holding hands, faced the court, and the courtiers' applause gave way to exuberant cheering. Lumpkin and Phineas came forward to clap Pete on the back and shake his hand—and Lumpkin even gave the human a "low five"—but Cynthia and Brenawen exchanged worried looks, and Penelope exerted all her willpower to keep her face like stone.

Amidst the cheers, Phineas whispered to Pete, "Congratulations, my friend. Your princess is quite the catch."

Pete grinned at the faun and said, "Was that a fish joke?" When Phineas nodded, Pete said, "Not bad. Hey, come by later, and we'll go for a beer. And then you can tell me when you'll finally work up the guts to make an honest woman out of Cynthia."

"Someday," said Phineas with a grin, "but not too soon."

Pete and Phineas slapped each other on the back—the "bro hug," as Pete described it—and then Phineas pulled away to stand by Cynthia. Pete and Cliodhna continued to stand before the crowd, basking in their adulations. Pete looked over at Penelope and caught her gaze. The centauress's eyes softened, and she smiled at Pete, but it was only half-hearted.

* * *

**Here Ends Book One of the Chronicle**

* * *

**First Interlude**

* * *

PETE was led to a platform on the top of one of the palace's many towers. He was told to go alone. His friends would have to wait until the ritual was complete. Even his newly betrothed princess wouldn't be allowed to watch. Only the Seven Bards of Narrowhaven could accompany Pete up to the tower's roof. The chief of these sage singers was a white-bearded merman by the name of Oghma. Pete thought that he looked the spitting image of King Triton, from the Disney cartoon, except for the fact that he carried a harp instead of a trident. The other Bards, mermen and mermaids both, carried other instruments: strings and drums, but no horns, for they all had to sing as well as play.

When Pete and the Bards came to the rooftop, Pete looked down and saw that the platform was inscribed with a geometric design. It wasn't some kind of occult symbol or arcane circle. Rather, it looked more like a Celtic cross, with intricate loops and bands arranged in the shape of a "plus sign" within a circle. Pete was instructed to stand in the center, where the arms of the cross-design came together. The "x" marks the spot, Pete thought to himself.

Overhead, the stars had long since come out. It was imperative that they wait until nighttime, Oghma had said, for they had to be sure that the vampire had taken physical form before they could attempt to expel its influence from Pete's body and blood. When midnight drew near, Oghma announced to Pete and the other Bards that it was time to begin.

And so the Seven Bards began to sing. As with the mermen aboard the _Dawn Treader_ , it was a wordless song that reminded Pete of whistling wind. It was still a siren-song, but this time… this was a song of _power_. It had magic. It was a mournful song, a funerary dirge, a song of requiem. It called out to the restless spirits of the dead and bade them be at peace, to put aside evil and fear and to embrace whatever destiny lay beyond this mortal world. The power of the song struck Pete like a lightning bolt between the eyes.

And the human fell unconscious

* * *

Pete sat up and looked around. It was dark, but tiny fires in coal-burning braziers cast meager light on the chamber. It was the torture-chamber beneath Mount Pire, in the Tomb of Ancient Kings—the long-forgotten elvish monument that Count Serpens had made into his fortress. Nothing frightened Pete more than his memories—and his continuing nightmares—of this place. Nothing, that is, except for Count Serpens himself.

As if he had been summoned by Pete's very thoughts, Count Serpens stepped out of the shadows. Pete scrambled to his feet and backed away. He wanted to scream, but he was too terrified to find his voice. The vampire in black armor advanced menacingly on Pete, but he said nothing. Pete took several more steps back… and then he realized something.

In his nightmares, he had always been paralyzed. Helpless. But here, now, in this dream or vision or whatever it was… _he could move_. Boldly, Pete approached Count Serpens, balled his fist, and struck the vampire square on the chin. "That was for Tara," said Pete.

Count Serpens said nothing, but rose to his feet and glared angrily at the human.

"What's the matter?" said Pete. "Not feeling talkative?" He lunged at Serpens again and tackled him to the ground, striking him repeatedly on either side of the face. The human let out a primal yell and punched the vampire one last time before pushing himself away and getting back onto his feet.

Serpens's face was now a bruised and bloody pulp, but still the vampire only stared at Pete with a look of pure hatred.

"You can't talk," Pete realized, "because you're not real. You're just a shadow. An idea. You're that thing in the back of my mind that I've been afraid of for way too long."

Count Serpens stood up and rushed at Pete, his arms outstretched. Pete just grinned and lowered his center of gravity. This was an old high school wrestling move. He caught the vampire and _heaved_ with all of his might, flipping Serpens's ragdoll form clear over his head and slamming him down behind himself. Serpens landed on something much higher up than the ground, waist-level with Pete.

Pete turned around and saw what it was: a box, an open coffin with a layer of brown soil in the bottom of it. And on a table nearby, there sat a wooden stake and mallet, just waiting for Pete to pick them up and use them. "This may not be real," said Pete, taking up the stake, "but I'm going to enjoy it anyway. A whole lot." The vampire was too dazed to do anything by lie in the coffin, until Pete placed the point of the stake over his heart. Serpens's blood-red eyes snapped open, and he bared his fangs at Pete in rage and fear. "This," said Pete, " _this_ is for _me_." And he brought the mallet down onto the stake with all his strength.

* * *

Pete was awakened by the extraordinarily painful sensation of something trying to crawl its way out of his body through the mouth. He was flat on his back, on the rooftop of the palace tower. The stars were overhead. And a cloud of noxious green vapor was pouring out of his mouth and nostrils, choking off his breath, keeping him from crying out in pain. The cloud of gas took on a shape: that of a great green serpent, like a viper. It wriggled and it writhed as it floated in the air, and then it broke up and dissipated. It just vanished… and that was that.

Pete laid his head back and felt the cold stone beneath his body. He felt… pretty good. Tired, but basically okay. He reached his hand up to his neck… and felt smooth skin. The bite wounds were gone. Count Serpens was gone. Pete was free of him. All around, the Seven Bards were smiling, and Oghma was nodding in satisfaction. Pete looked up at the stars, thanked his lucky one, and laughed with joy.

* * *

Many miles to the west, in a chamber deep beneath the castle of Cair Paravel, a vampire was writhing on the ground and vomiting up blackened blood. A dire pain pierced his heart, and it was like nothing he had felt in seven-hundred long years of undeath. He rose to knees and screamed, "No! I will not be denied my triumph! _**Nooooo!**_ "

But his cries were in vain. Peter Pevensie was free, and Count Serpens knew it.

The human was coming. Peter was coming for _him_ , of that Serpens had no doubt. And along with Peter, wide war would come to all of Narnia. The Count of Cair Paravel knew that he would need to be prepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! It's been a long time in coming to this point. This is now officially the longest story that I have ever written, and it's nowhere near over. That's kind of intimidating, but at least this is a very enjoyable story to write. In Book Two, however, the story is going to change drastically in scope and tone. Book One was a "trapped in a fantastic world" story. Book Two will be a war story. It will have the ring of the epic to it. At least, I hope so.


	31. Chapter 31

PETE recovered quickly in the days that followed. The color came back to his skin; he was able to keep food down; and his strength began to return. He looked better and healthier with each passing day, and by the time a week had gone by, Princess Cliodhna had decided that Pete wasn't such an eyesore after all. Pete took meals with the princess, and they would go on "dates" together, ostensibly to get to know each other better—walking together through the streets of Narrowhaven, or swimming in the ocean and relaxing on the beaches. But whenever Cliodhna was pulled away to deal with the wedding preparations, Pete would disappear back to his rooms and go find Phineas or Penelope, so that he could practice his archery and swordsmanship again. Combat practice was the best way, he judged, to recover his health as quickly as possible. And he wanted to spend as much precious time as he could with his Narnian friends. The Islanders were starting to monopolize his attention, leaving little time leftover for his companions.

When Pete did manage to get away for a workout, the mood would be different depending on who he trained with. Penelope was withdrawn and disinclined to talk. She completely avoided any discussion of the impending wedding. She would drill Pete in his swordplay, and that was that. Phineas, on the other hand, was always jovial. As they drew bowstrings and loosed at targets, the faun would tease Pete about his sudden betrothal, and the human would answer in kind with friendly jibes about Phineas's lack of any such engagement with Cynthia.

Then, at last, came the night before the wedding. A bachelor party was out of the question, Pete knew. The custom simply didn't exist in Narnia. Instead, the only thing that Pete could look forward to this evening was another formal dinner with his intended. But that wasn't so bad, all things considered. Cliodhna was charming, she was beyond beautiful, and she was a crown princess. Pete had to wonder whether he could really hope for more than that.

At sundown that night, they sat together on a terrace overlooking the city. Two butlers stood discreetly off to the side, occasionally removing used dishes or freshening the wine-glasses. "That will be all," Cliodhna said to them at last. "Thank you." The two mermen bowed and left, and then Pete and the princess were alone.

Pete looked out over the mer-city. It was past high-tide right now, so everything south of the dike was under water. On the dry side of the city, lamps were being lit, casting an eerie reflection out on the harbor. The pinks and oranges of the sunset mingled with this and made a glowing panorama.

"Something troubles you," said Cliodhna. "You're nervous about tomorrow?"

"Of course I am," said Pete. "Aren't you?"

The mermaid nodded and sipped her wine gingerly.

Pete asked, "Have you ever been in love, Clio?"

The mermaid smiled at Pete's nickname for her, and she nodded again. "Yes I have."

"You get that I'm not in love with you, right?" said the human bluntly.

"Obviously. And I'm not in love with you either."

"Oh, good," said Pete, "I'm glad we got that cleared up."

" _But_ ," said Cliodhna, "I've always known that my husband would be chosen by circumstances beyond my control, and I'm resolved to make the best of it. You're a good man, Peter. For what little it's worth, I'm glad that I'm marrying you and not somebody else."

Pete laughed hollowly at that. "You're not so bad yourself, at that," he said. "I could do a whole hell of a lot worse."

"You see?" smiled the mermaid. "We're romancing each other already." Then her demeanor grew serious. "I… I'm given to understand that people in our position—royalty, I mean—usually _grow_ to love each other. Over time."

"Yeah," said Pete. "I've heard that too."

Several moments passed in silence. Then Cliodhna said, "You still look like a bundle of nerves! Is the prospect of marrying me truly so disheartening? Do I repulse you somehow?"

"No!" said Pete. "No, it's not… okay, look. This time tomorrow, it will be, like, our _wedding night_ , right? And I'm still not sure that we… I mean… how can the two of us…?"

"Just spit it out already!" said the princess.

"What I'm trying to say is, you're a mermaid, and so you're part… the bottom part, that is… is it… are we… compatible?"

"Because I'm half _fish_?" supplied Cliodhna. "That's what has you worried?"

"Well… yeah," said Pete. "It's… a mystery to me how… _things_ … are supposed to work for your species."

"Things like sex," said the mermaid. "You don't have to dance around the subject. And there's nothing to worry about. We're perfectly 'compatible'—I'm quite certain of that." To demonstrate, she lifted up the gauzy fabric of her dress and pointed at her belly-button. "How do you think _that_ got there, unless I was born live and not hatched from a fish-egg?"

Pete was taken with Cliodhna's direct answer and snorted with laughter. "Okay, okay," he said, putting his hands up in surrender. "Mermaids are mammals. Gotcha. I'll have Mr. Spock note it down in the science log." He half-grinned and added, "There's a caviar joke in here somewhere, but I'm going to leave it alone. Because I respect you too much, as a person."

"So… have I put all your darkest fears to rest?" asked Cliodhna, leaning over the table and closing the distance between herself and Pete.

"Mostly," said the human. "You know, aside from the fact that we're about to get hitched, and if it doesn't work out between us, we'll only be miserable for the rest of our lives."

"I won't make you miserable," said the mermaid, pressing her lips to Pete. They kissed deeply, and Pete couldn't help but get lost in the sensation. How many different species of women did this make for him now? He was starting to feel like a regular Captain Kirk. Princess Cliodhna pulled away and smiled at the dazed look on Pete's face. "Good night," she said, rising to leave.

"Uh… yeah, good night," said Pete. He watched as the mermaid slid away, her tailfin flapping on the ground as she moved. It was strange. When Queen Morrigan "walked" on her tail, Pete was reminded of a slithering snake, or the medusa from _Clash of the Titans_. And that woman was about to become his mother-in-law, he shuddered to think! But Cliodhna… as she swished and swayed away from the terrace, Pete only saw a seductive siren, of the kind that sailors would gladly drown themselves for. He whistled softly to himself. Yes indeed, he could certainly do worse than her.

* * *

The next day, Pete and the Narnian rebels waited nervously in the common room that connected all the bedchambers in their suite. They were all dressed in Islander finery, in preparation for tonight's big event. Pete had been asked to wear a suit of coral-colored clothes trimmed in pearls. He looked down at himself, sucked in his breath, and sighed noisily for what must have been the thirty-seventh time that morning. "Somehow, I never imagined that on my wedding day, I'd have to dress up like Long John Silver's effeminate cousin, just so that I can walk down the isle with a girl who looks like she should be doing a modeling job for a tuna-can," he said. "My life is _weird._ "

Penelope clip-clopped across the marble floor and straightened the front of Pete's vest for him. "You really mean to go through with this, then? I should remind you, Peter, that you've sneaked into and out of fortresses more heavily guarded than this one."

"I can't just run away from this, Penny," answered Pete. "I made a deal. A promise. And besides, I don't think we can afford to piss off 'Queen Neptuna' right now." He slipped into a bad Marlon Brando impression and said through puffed-out cheeks, "She made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

"It doesn't hurt that the princess is so beautiful," said Cynthia, who sat on a plush sofa next to Phineas. "She makes a fitting bride for our future king."

"And Lord Peter is far more likely to become our king, once this alliance with the Island Kingdom is made official and inviolable," added Lumpkin. The dwarf paced back and forth and wrung his hands, while Brenawen sat on a settee and followed him with her eyes.

"Those are all very good reasons," said Penelope to Pete, "but do they really justify your marrying this woman you barely know?"

"We both know it's a marriage of convenience," said Pete. "We're going into this with eyes wide open." He sighed again (raising the morning's total to thirty-eight). "I don't have to like it. But I _do_ have to go through with it."

"No, you don't!" said Penelope. "Why are you suddenly determined to be so damned honorable?"

"Why are _you_ so determined to change my mind?" Pete shot back. "I know that _you_ have some bad history with the whole arranged marriage thing, but—" The words were out of Pete's mouth before he even realized that he was saying them openly and in front of everybody.

Penelope was shocked and drew her hand up over her mouth. Then, venomously, she retaliated by saying, "Cliodhna won't replace Taraiel in your heart."

Everybody else in the room became silent, red-faced, and totally engrossed in watching the human and the centaur stare each other down. Then Pete said, "That was a hit below the belt, Penny. Thanks a heap."

Penelope realized that she had gone too far. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I shouldn't have—"

"No, you really shouldn't have," said Pete. He brushed past Penelope and stormed back to his bedroom, where he was determined to wait—alone—until the evening came.

* * *

That night, in the grand hall of Narrowhaven Palace, the entire royal court sat in assembly, along with innumerable distinguished guests which had lately arrived from all over the Sea Kingdom. A royal wedding was an affair of superlative importance, after all, and a wedding involving a human being was altogether unprecedented. Naturally, Queen Morrigan had spared nothing for the occasion. Guests, food and drink, decorations, entertainers, honor guards, gifts… there was so much of _everything_ that the spectacle inundated the senses and left one drunk from nothing but the excess of movement and colors.

Oghma, the Chief Bard of Narrowhaven, officiated the ceremony. Peter Pevensie of New York stood beside Princess Cliodhna, while the bard proclaimed his blessings over them. They faced each other and recited vows, and then Oghma came forward and placed the princess's hand into Pete's. They kissed, and the assembled guests erupted in cheers. The celebration made at their engagement, not so very long ago, paled in comparison to this. Bands played soaring music, confetti fell from the ceiling, and tears flowed as freely as the wine. Princess Cliodhna shone with radiance, her glowing cheeks standing out against the sea-green of her exquisite gown. She smiled at Pete, and his heart skipped a beat.

As guests of honor, the Narnians were seated close to the front of the chamber. When the ceremony had concluded at last, they clapped and cheered politely—for the most part. Some of them were less happy than others to see this wedding take place.

Pete took his wife by the hand—his _wife_ , he thought in astonishment—and followed her from the grand hall to the banquet chamber, where all of the guests were soon to follow. The wedding was over, and the reception was about to begin. This thing that had just happened, it was overwhelming, and it was insane, and Pete didn't care. After all the terrible crap that he had experienced in this world, this was one of the good moments. Wars, witches, and curses could be forgotten for a while. It was party time.

* * *

After the festivities had finally run their course, and the majority of the guests had slowly repaired back to their rooms, Cloidhna took Pete back to her own apartments in the palace. They clung together and stumbled a bit—more than a little wine had been consumed on both of their parts. At the door to the princess's chambers, Pete stopped her. "Wait, wait. It's a tradition from home." He picked up the surprised mermaid in his arms—no easy feat, considering how heavy that long fishtail really made her, but Pete had recovered most of his strength by now—and he carried her across the threshold.

"We don't have a custom like this," Cliodhna laughed. "A merman would just fall over!"

Between the alcohol and the unexpected weight in his arms, Pete grew red in the face and let out a breath as he let Cliodhna back onto the floor. "Whew. I'm guessing that's not the only reason."

The mermaid smiled alluringly and pulled Pete into the bedchamber. She let herself fall back onto the mattress and beckoned to the human. "Come to bed, my prince," she said.

"Prince," repeated Pete. "Huh." Somewhere along the line, he had completely forgotten about that part. Marrying Cliodhna made him the Prince of the Islanders. He was honest-to-God royalty now, and that came with responsibilities. There were obvious perks—one of them was waiting for him on the bed with desire in her eyes—but mostly, responsibilities. The weight of it suddenly hit Pete, and he sat down on the bedside.

Cliodhna's arms snaked around his torso, and her tail likewise wound around his legs—and boy, was _that_ ever an odd sensation. He felt the mermaid bury her head in the crook of his neck, resting on his shoulder. "It's our wedding night," she reminded him. "It may not have been our choice, but that doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves."

"No, it doesn't," agreed Pete. "I'm sorry, Clio. It's just… the last time a woman came onto me this strongly, it turned out she was a wicked witch. Of course, we weren't married, so the situation was totally different—"

Pete was cut off by Cliodhna, pressing her lips to his. Pete returned her embrace, and they fell down onto the bed together. "You've had many interesting adventures, my husband," said the princess. "You can tell me all about them… in the morning."


	32. Chapter 32

GROGGY and a little bit hung over, Pete blinked away the sleep and rolled over in his bed. No, wait, it wasn't his bed—not the one he'd been sleeping in since he had come to Narrowhaven, anyway. This was somebody else's bed. He rolled over and felt around. Somebody else was in the bed with him… long hair… soft skin… slick scales. Oh. Right. He'd gotten married last night. To a mermaid. To Princess Cliodhna. Which officially made him Prince Peter. Which Pete wasn't sure he liked.

"Mm, good morning," said Cliodhna sleepily. She rolled over under the sheets and snuggled up to Pete.

This part was pretty likable, though. All things considered. "Good morning yourself, Princess," said Pete with a cheeky grin. "Whew… if my breath smells anything like yours…"

The princess giggled and kissed her husband's lips. "I'm certain it does. But this is still more comfortable than getting up."

So they stayed cuddled together in bed for most of the morning. And as they rested together, Pete realized something that surprised him: he was starting to feel something for Cliodhna. There was an undeniable attraction, to be sure, but could it perhaps be more than that? In all honestly, last night hadn't felt like newlyweds making love. Not by a long shot. It had been more like a desperate one-night-stand shared between two people who were each trying to ground themselves in their circumstances. Pete was more or less confused by the conflicting emotions.

The bedroom was extremely bright. Sunlight streamed in from the windows and the terrace and reflected off all the white marble. Pete figured that he would want to get up sooner or later. He had never been inclined to just lie in a bed all day. Still, getting up would mean extricating himself from the coiled embrace of his gorgeous wife. So… he just laid there and tried not to think about moving.

"I cannot believe that I am wedded to a legendary human being," said Cloidhna, her sea-green eyes peering into Pete's. "It is… like living in a myth, or a storybook come to life!"

Pete grinned. "The feeling's mutual. Nobody believes in mermaids where I come from, so that makes you just as mythical."

"Me? Mythical?" The mermaid laughed aloud. "What a funny thought! I've always seen myself as… as… perfectly ordinary!"

"Except that you're a royal princess," said Pete.

"Oh. Yes, well, there's that." Then, quite suddenly and out of the blue, Cliodhna said, "I wonder how long it will be before I am with child."

Pete was a little startled by the turn of subject and stammered, "Ch-child? As in, kids?"

"Of course!" said Cliodhna. "We're expected provide the kingdom with an heir. You do want children, don't you?"

"Those are the kinds of questions that most people hash out _before_ they get married," said Pete, "but… yeah, I do. Want to be a dad, that is." Now that he was thinking about it—seriously considering the matter for the first time in his life—he really did like the idea. Him… with kids… maybe his imagination was idealizing the picture somewhat, but he could certainly see himself raising a little boy or a little girl with Cliodhna. The only question was, what species would they be? "Uh… we're able to… because… the two of us _can_ have children, right?"

"Why couldn't we?" asked Cliodhna. "If all the other races can intermingle their bloodlines, why not sea-folk and humans?"

"I didn't know," said Pete. "But I'm glad that's the case."

"As am I," said Cliodhna. "I want to be a mother even more than I want to be queen."

In that moment, as if by sudden and mutual agreement, the newlyweds resumed such activities as would make Cliodhna's wish a likelier and sooner reality.

* * *

The days passed quickly after the wedding. Pete and Cliodhna enjoyed their honeymoon, such as it was, by spending several days secluded in the princess's apartments. The Narnians saw very little of Pete, but Queen Morrigan was more than gracious with her continuing hospitality towards the rebels. She would frequently take the time to entertain them personally with dinners and other gatherings, and whenever they saw the elder mer-woman, she was pleased as punch and more pleasant to be around than they had ever seen her. It was as if Pete's marriage to Cliodhna had at last lifted a great burden from her shoulders.

But one day, the queen summoned the Narnians to a council-chamber. So, led by Penelope, the five rebels came into a great hall with a large, round table and many empty seats. The only people present here were Queen Morrigan, Princess Cliodhna, Pete, and a merman that none of them had seen before. "Greetings," said Morrigan. "We have much to discuss. First, let me introduce to you the Grand Admiral Pwyll, Commander of the Queen's Navy." The merman nodded his head curtly, and the five Narnians greeted him in turn.

"Forgive us, Your Majesty, but what is this all about?" asked Penelope.

"Straight to the point again," said Morrigan. "I like that about you, Captain. But the admiral, I think, can explain things better than I."

Grand Admiral Pwyll rose from the table and unrolled a scroll made from shark-hide. It contained a map of the Island Kingdom and all the surrounding waters. He pointed to a spot in the northwestern corner of the map, not far from the coast of Narnia, and said in his rumbling voice, "A great fleet masses at Galma. As all of you know, I'm sure, Galma was once sovereign Islander territory, but the White Witch seized it for Narnia more than six centuries ago. Her military presence at Galma has always been significant, but now it's been multiplied tenfold by the aggregation of this—this—"

"Armada," offered Pete. "Jadis is trying to gather enough ships to challenge the Sea Kingdom."

"Impossible!" said Cliodhna. "Nobody in the world has more ships than we do!"

The admiral coughed and cleared his throat. "Not on their own, no," he said, "but our spies tell us that Jadis has brought Calormene mercenaries into her service, and their ships comprise a full third of this Galmatian armada."

Penelope looked over the map and said, "The Seven Isles are the closest to Galma, which makes them Jadis's natural target, and she would have to pass through them to reach Narrowhaven. But what if she decides to send the fleet south, to Terebinthia, to seize that island first? The Island Kingdom would be completely cut off from Calormen and Archenland if she did that, and Jadis would further tighten her grip on the slave-trade."

"I say, I hadn't considered that," blustered the admiral. "Bravo, Lady Knight! We'll have to commit some of our ships to the defense of Terebinthia—"

"No," said Pete, "don't bother. I think I have a sense of how the White Witch thinks. Jadis will send her fleet wherever we decide gather ours—because she'll assume that I'm right there with it, and the only thing she really wants is to see me stone-cold dead."

"Because you're the only real threat to her reign," said Penelope. "The curse of winter can't be broken unless you go to Cair Paravel." The centauress looked sharply at the admiral and said, "I stand corrected. If Jadis means to attack the Island Kingdom, she will make for the Seven Isles directly. If, however, this fleet is defensive… in that case, its sole purpose is to stand barrier between Lord Peter—forgive me, _Prince_ Peter—and the Cair."

Grand Admiral Pwyll stroked the graying stubble on his chin and poured over the map. At length, he announced, "I quite agree. I shall order the Navy to gather at Redhaven, and if we learn that the Galmatian fleet has put to sea, we will brace ourselves to defend the Isles. But if the enemy remains at Galma…"

"If that proves to be the case, Admiral, you are hereby authorized to take any action you see fit," said Queen Morrigan. "Even at the risk of provoking open war with Narnia, you may decide to attack this armada and reclaim Galma for the Sea Kingdom. Should you prove successful, why, in that case, nothing would stand between our royal son Peter and the high throne of Narnia! Wouldn't that be fortunate?"

In reaction to the queen's words, the Narnians exchanged various looks of worry and suspicion. If Morrigan was nothing else, she was a savvy politician. "Of course," said Phineas, speaking for the group, "if Peter becomes our High King, he and the Princess Cliodhna would be expected to rule Narnia from the king's house at Cair Paravel."

"But of course," said Queen Morrigan. "That _is_ the tradition, and I would never do anything to countermand tradition."

Cliodhna clasped Pete's hand tightly and whispered, "Imagine the two of us, High King and Queen of Narnia _and_ the Islands! Oh, it's almost too much to hope for!"

"I'm not king yet," Pete whispered, "but that's just a detail." He turned his attention back to the war-council and said, "I have to go to the Seven Isles."

Looks of dismay passed over both Cliodhna and Morrigan. The queen said, "Are you sure that that would be wise, O Prince? If Jadis knows where you are, she may attempt assassination—"

"No!" said Cliodhna, clinging tightly to Pete's arm. "Peter, please say that you'll stay with me in Narrowhaven!"

"I have to go," said Pete. "It's my fight. I have to face it. And I have to be in Pyrstead, to see some dwarves about another alliance."

"Oh dear, I'd forgotten all about them!" said Lumpkin, who tugged on his beard nervously. "I should warn you, my people are stubborn. Very little apart from the sight of a Son of Adam in the flesh will sway them to our cause."

"Then it's settled," said Pete. "I'll—"

" _We'll_ go to the Seven Isles then," corrected Cliodhna. "I'll not leave your side so quickly, husband."

"Cliodhna, no!" said Morrigan. "What if the Galmatian fleet attacks? You'll place yourself in danger!"

"Danger I mean to face by Peter's side," said the princess. "And I can help our ships, if the need arises. I've been trained all my life to sing like the bards."

"Say, that's an idea," said Pete. "Those bards could come in handy. Can we take them with us too?"

"It's been done before," said Admiral Pwyll. "Their spell-songs can raise or calm the winds, heal grave wounds, and do many other useful things."

"Very well," said Queen Morrigan. "Despite my deep misgivings, I give you my permission. Cliodhna may go with you, Peter, and the bards shall be protection for the both of you. I did promise, after all, to commit everything I had to your war for Narnia. Just see to it that I don't _lose_ everything because you feel the need to make a display of your bravery."

* * *

After a few short days of preparations, one of the great Islander galleons set out for the Seven Isles. It carried the five Narnians, the Seven Bards of Narrowhaven, and the Prince and Princess of the Island Kingdom. Pete and Cliodhna shared the second-best cabin on the ship, after the captain's quarters. The Narnians and the Bards had other bunks in the forward section of the ship. Sailing aboard this immense vessel was a different experience altogether from life aboard the _Dawn Treader_. The sailors of the Royal Navy were cordial enough, and of course they were always treated Pete with deference, but the whole ship was so much more impersonal than Captain Diarmuid's vessel had been. The _Dawn Treader_ was the ship of a smuggler and a pirate, and it had that kind of character. This ship was a military ship, and it had a different sort of character—one that reflected discipline and efficiency.

Despite the galleon's size, her passengers would be together in relatively close quarters for all of nearly two weeks. This meant that there was really no chance of anybody avoiding anybody else. The Narnians had to socialize with Princess Cliodhna, particularly since she rarely separated herself from Pete, and they came to know her as an acquaintance, if not a friend. The chief bard, Oghma, also spent a great deal of time in their company, and he was generally better-liked. He could sing and play music and tell all kinds of stories: tragedies, comedies, histories, myths, and folk-tales. All of the sailors on the ship were glad for the presence of the bards, since they kept the evenings lively and entertaining. As the days passed, and the Narnians got to know their Islander companions better, the tension between the two parties eased somewhat. Eventually, even Penelope had to admit that Princess Cliodhna made a good match for Pete. They each seemed to like the other's company, at any rate. The mermaid and the human were always together, and they frequently secluded themselves in their cabin. It seemed to the others that Pete and Cliodhna really were starting to fall in love with each other!

* * *

The Navy ship arrived in Redhaven, but the Narnians no longer needed to patronize the inn that they had occupied on their last visit, during Pete's fevered brush with death. Now they accompanied Islander royalty, and so it was the honor of the Seven Isles' Governor to entertain them in his own house. This proved to be a seaside mansion on Muil Island, the same island where the dwarven community of Pyrstead had been built.

"It's up in the mountains, not far from the mines," said Brenawen the next morning, "but you couldn't drag me there with a dozen dragons. I'd be shot on sight."

Lumpkin, Brenawen, and Pete stood together at the foot of a rocky path that wound this way and that, back and forth, up into the heights of the island. "I want you to come with us anyway," said Pete. "The Red Dwarves need to learn that this racist bullcrap won't fly with their future king. And if we all go together, they'll have to get through me to get at you."

"Let me remind you, my kind have never before seen a Son of Adam," said Lumpkin. "They could mistake you for a warlock, or an elf, or a jinn—all things that will have them reaching for their bows and quivers before they even think to ask a question."

"Okay," said Pete, "so we bring a flag of truce or something. You're coming anyway. _Both_ of you."

Lumpkin sighed. "In spite of what you have said in the past, royal command suits you, my Prince."

"Yeah," said Pete, "it's really starting to grow on me."


	33. Chapter 33

CERTAIN matters of fact will interest only the very curious, the very mature, and the very immature. One such fact concerns the clothing habits of the many races of Narnia. It is rather common knowledge that certain species—notably the fauns, the nymphs, and the centaurs—don't bother to cover themselves unless they have a particular reason to do so. They will wear armor to protect themselves in battle, and they will wear heavy cloaks and furs in the wintertime for protection from the cold. When traveling abroad, they will wear clothes for the sake of the more modest races' sensibilities. But in warm weather, among their own people, they see little purpose in draping themselves with cumbersome sheets of fabric. Among the Four Peoples, the dwarves and the elves and the jinn all think it a strange custom indeed, but they simply and unquestioningly accept it as the way things are for Narnians. The fourth race, the mer-people, are more singular in their behavior. Practicality determines what they wear, and when and where they wear it. Underwater, garments are more hindrance than help, and so those merfolk who rarely venture onto dry land are also disinclined towards clothing themselves. Conversely, mer-people who prefer to dwell on the surface will wear whatever clothes prove convenient. After a certain age, for example, mermaids begin to notice that their figures are ruled by gravity rather than buoyancy when above the surface; whereas, for the young, choice of dress tends to range from "sparse" to "optional." But since the merfolk are essentially an amphibious people, they will naturally adapt to whichever circumstances present themselves, and they don't think anything of it.

Nobody ever bothered to mention any of these things to Pete Pevensie. He only saw Narnia in the dead of winter, and when he left that place, his friends accompanied him into the countries of the elves and the jinn. Therefore, as one might expect, the Narnians that Pete knew were always fully dressed. When they arrived in the Island Kingdom, though, it was quite impossible to go for very long without seeing some mermaid or merman prancing about in a complete state of nature. The mermen neither shocked nor interested Pete very much, but the mermaids certainly did—and the human had caught himself staring shamelessly on more than one occasion since his arrival in Narrowhaven some weeks back. The other Narnians noticed this, but they simply assumed that Pete appreciated a beautiful female when he saw one. Phineas, for example, had much the same reaction to the Islanders as Pete did—but without the human's red-in-the-face embarrassment. And it was fairly safe to assume that Penelope and Cynthia felt a similar appreciation, however shallow all of this might be, when gazing upon some bare-chested merman.

I only set this digression down before the gentle reader to explain the lack of concern, or indeed even noteworthy reaction, on the part of Princess Cliodhna and Captain Penelope when they happened to encounter each other on the beach one morning in a shared condition of complete undress.

The very morning that Pete and the two dwarves left the governor's house on Muil Island to visit Pyrstead, Princess Cliodhna did what any sensible mermaid would do while waiting for a human husband to return from an overland journey: she discarded her seashells and spent early part of the day swimming in the ocean, lazing on the beach, and tanning herself on seaside rocks. Cliodhna did not expect, however, that Penelope might by coincidence decide to spend her own morning in much the same fashion—namely, bathing in the sea and soaking up sun. The centauress waded into the surf up to her waist and splashed some of the cold seawater on her bare skin to get used to it—and then gave a start when she saw Cliodhna reclining on a rock some distance out in the water.

When the mermaid spotted the centauress, she flexed her tail, flipped her fin, and slid bodily off the rock, cutting into the water with nary a splash. She swam lazily over to the centauress and said, "Good morning, Captain."

Penelope bowed her head respectfully and said, "Forgive me, Your Highness. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Think nothing of it," said Cliodhna. "I was only watching the ships gather around Brenn."

Sure enough, across the narrow strait between Muil and Brenn Islands, a number of warships and supply vessels had already massed at the port of Redhaven—and this was only a tiny fraction of the Sea Kingdom's navy. Penelope observed this growing fleet and said, "It's an impressive sight. Even Jadis's armada can't hope to stand against your navy."

"Hm? Oh, yes, of course it couldn't," said Cliodhna. The mermaid hardly paid the centaur-woman any attention, so focused was she on watching the ships sail into the harbor one-by-one.

"Might I ask what Your Highness is looking for so intently?" said Penelope.

"I'm hoping to see a particular ship," answered Cliodhna.

"I'm afraid I can't tell one ship from another at this distance," confessed Penelope, "but then, I know little of sea-craft, and you've lived among ships all your life."

"Oh, you'd spot _this_ ship right away if you knew what to look for," said the princess. "It's bright green, and painted to look like a dragon—"

"I do know that ship!" said Penelope. "The _Dawn Treader_!"

Cliodhna was surprised and turned to the centauress. "You've sailed aboard the _Treader_?"

"Of course! She brought us all the way from Calormen to the shores of Felimath Island."

"Only to Felimath?" said Cliodhna. "He didn't come to Doorn?"

Penelope said, "He…? Oh. But you mean Captain Diarmuid, of course."

"Yes I do," said Cliodhna softly. "I… I sailed on the _Dawn Treader_ myself for a time."

"On a pirate ship?" said Penelope.

"He wasn't always a pirate," said Cliodhna. "Diarmuid earned his captaincy in the Royal Navy. I met him when he was still a well-regarded officer." There was just a hint of nostalgia in the mermaid's voice.

"We do still regard him highly," said Penelope. "We sailed with Diarmuid long enough to count him a friend."

"I wonder why Peter never mentioned it," said Cliodhna.

"Perhaps to keep him safe," answered the centauress. "Diarmuid said that he wasn't welcome in Narrowhaven, and that your mother the queen wanted him dead."

Cliodhna nodded. "Yes. Yes, I suppose that's true. Um… if you'll excuse me, Captain, I have to… be somewhere else…" And without another word, the mermaid dove underneath the water and disappeared from sight. Penelope was left alone to bathe in private, to gaze at the ships arriving across the strait, and to wonder at whatever had Peter's wife so perturbed.

* * *

Pete, Lumpkin, and Brenawen neared the high stone wall that warded the winding mountain path. Pete carried a plain white banner on a pole, a flag of truce that he could only hope the dwarves would honor when they saw it. Lumpkin walked in front of Pete, wishing that he could somehow disappear altogether. Brenawen stayed behind the human and actually did a fair job of going unseen. The dwarf-built fortification stretched all the way across the path, from the mountain-face on their right to the very edge of the cliffside on their left. A set of gates made from some sturdy, dark wood barricaded the only passage through the wall, and a watchtower with crenelations ringing the battlement looked down over the approach.

"Hello the tower!" called Lumpkin.

The head of a red-bearded dwarf appeared in a crenel on the tower-top. "Who goes? Speak quickly, on your lives!"

Lumpkin was just about to announce their names and their mission, when Pete pushed his way to the fore and called, "Hello! I am Arthur, King of the Britons, and this," he put a hand on Lumpkin's shoulder, "is my loyal servant, Patsy. Tell your master, if he will give us food and shelter for the evening, he may join us on our quest for the Holy Grail!"

The dwarf on the tower called back, "What? Hold a moment…" and his face disappeared from sight.

Lumpkin and Brenawen gaped at Peter, but the human only grinned and said, "I always wanted to shout that up to a guard on a castle-wall."

A few moments later, the sound of footsteps could be heard descending the innards of the watchtower. Then, a tiny peep-hole opened in the wooden gate-door at just the right height for a dwarf to peer through. The guard's face was much closer now, and he said, "What are you on about, with Britons and Grails?"

Pete said, "You must have misheard me from all the way up there. My name is Peter Pevensie. I'm a Son of Adam and the Prince of the Sea Kingdom, and I'm here to talk with your leaders about an alliance against the White Witch of Narnia."

"Oh!" said the guard. "That's something else altogether! All right… just another moment…" And now a much larger door opened in the gate, this one just big enough for Pete and his two companions to pass through. On the other side, the Red Dwarf gate-warden stood with short-bow and arrows in hand. Beyond, the mountain path continued to wind up, up, up to a small city of stone. "Hold it," said the guard when his eyes fell upon Brenawen. "You can't bring _that_ up to Pyrstead."

Pete knew who the guard was talking about and said, " _She_ is a friend of mine, and loyal to Narnia. Brenawen goes where I go. Or are we going to have a problem here, Short Stuff?" Pete rested his hand on the hilt of his cutlass.

The dwarf said, "All right, all right, go on past. But let me warn you, Highness, you won't make many friends in Pyrstead by keeping company with a Black Dwarf—or by calling anybody 'short.'"

"Duly noted," said Pete. He left the guard and led Lumpkin and Brenawen up the path.

* * *

Prystead seemed to have been made entirely from buildings carved and hewn into the mountainside. The dwarves had no need to build with bricks and stones, for the solid rock gave way to the great skill of their engineers and architects. Delving into the mountainside also carried with it the great advantage of natural protection, for only a direct assault on the front of the town could gain an attacker entry, and that was no hopeful prospect as long as dwarves remained within to defend it.

The business of the town fell especially to one dwarf, the Lord Mayor Trefflin, and he spoke for his people. When Pete arrived and requested an audience with the Lord Mayor, the answer was simple: Pete was instructed to appear at a gathering of all the citizens in a great hall-under-the-mountain where these sorts of meetings ordinarily took place. And so, Pete, Lumpkin, and Brenawen descended into the dwarf-tunnels, and they wandered through these until they came at last to a high-vaulted chamber with many stone columns, beautifully carved, that ran all the way to the ceiling. Here, Lord Trefflin and six other dour dwarves sat in stone chairs upon a dais, while a crowd of Red Dwarves filled the hall behind Pete and the others.

"Word had reached us several days ago that Princess Cliodhna was wedded to a Son of Adam," said Trefflin, "and some among us grew hopeful once again that the time had come for the prophecies to be fulfilled. And yet, Prince Peter, you bring before us two outcasts: one exiled for his treachery, and the other shunned for the treachery of all her kind. What say you to this?"

"I say, it's high time you people learned to forgive and forget, let bygones be bygones. Everybody needs to come together on this fight, or the White Witch wins before it's even started. Lumpkin has been at my side since day one, and he—" Here Peter was cut off by the mayor.

"Lumpkin of Pire is well known to us," said Trefflin, "and his crime is counted unforgivable."

"What, because he fell in love?" retorted Pete. "Because he wouldn't judge another dwarf by the color of her… uh, hair?"

"Our laws are strict and inviolate," said Trefflin.

"If that's the case, we're wasting our time here," said Pete. "If you can't see past your prejudices, I don't want you on my side. So you're not invited to the party anymore. Come on, guys." Pete motioned for Lumpkin and Brenawen to follow him, and he turned to leave.

"Wait," said Trefflin. "It seems that your companions desire to speak."

Pete stopped, turned back, and nodded to his friends.

Lord Trefflin acknowledged them as well and said, "What have you to say, Captain Brenawen of the Redhaven Watch?"

Brenawen stepped forward and addressed all the Red Dwarves: "What many of you think about my people… it is true. The tribes of Black Dwarves who dwell in the north of Narnia have served the Witches for many generations. It was a tragic choice… made long ago, by our ancestors, and handed down to us without our consent. I don't ask any of you to ignore evil deeds committed in Jadis's name, for anybody—dwarf or centaur or goblin—who does evil is also making a choice. But some of us have chosen to oppose the Witch, and I beg you all now, do not condemn an entire people because they weren't given a choice." She turned to Pete and said, "You need these dwarves at your side, Your Highness. I have said my peace, and now I shall take my leave if it will ease the negotiations."

"Not a chance," said Pete. "This deal is all-or-nothing."

Lord Trefflin then said, "And what of you, Lumpkin of Pire? Have you anything to say in defense of your crime?"

"Crime?" repeated Lumpkin. His features contorted into a scowl of rage. " _Crime?_ Brenawen is my wife! We have no secrets between us! I shall deny to my dying breath that I have done anything criminal!"

Shocked gasps rippled through the assembled crowd, but Trefflin and the other dwarf-lords stood up and raised their hands, trying to calm the crowd. It was little use; everybody started shouting at everybody else. At last, Pete got fed up, and so he put two fingers to his lips and blew a shrill whistle worthy of Yankee Stadium. The high-pitched note echoed and reverberated off the walls of the acoustically-carved chamber.

"Enough of this!" said Pete in a voice loud enough to cow every dwarf there into stunned silence. "I'm going to make it really, really simple: are you guys _friends_ with the White Witch, or _enemies_?"

Lord Trefflin composed himself, waited for the other six dwarf-lords to resume their seats, and said, "Enemies, of course. You should never need to ask that: every dwarf in this community is here because we were sold into slavery by soldiers of Jadis."

"Yeah, and so is Brenawen," said Pete. "Imagine that. Now, _I_ am getting ready to take the fight back to Narnia. So, I have a very simple question for the Red Dwarves of Pyrstead: are you going to stay here, or would you like to come with me and help us fight the bad guys?"

"That question, Prince Peter, will take some debate," said Trefflin. And almost instantly, the dwarf-lords leaned in close and started talking amongst themselves in low tones.

Eventually, they split apart, and one of the dwarves, Gollin by name, said, "We would like to aid your war-effort, of course, but we Red Dwarves are not renowned as soldiers. We fight at need, to defend our homes, but we have little love for war."

"Cowards!" shouted Lumpkin. "All are needed! All must fight!"

But Pete quickly quieted his friend and said, "That's okay, actually. What I really need are some good smiths and engineers. Know any?"

Lord Trefflin smiled. "The best smiths in the world dwell in Pyrstead. They answer to the Forgemaster, Eld Brock." The mayor pointed to an elderly dwarf, his beard almost completely white, who dozed placidly among the other dwarves watching the proceedings.

"Great," said Pete. "What I really need to do is talk with your smiths. And I need some paper, or whatever it is you draw blueprints on. I've had a lot of time to think about this, you see, and I've got a plan that I think you dwarves can help me with…"

* * *

"If you're going to build this," said Pete, "brass will be better than iron, but steel would be even better than brass."

Eld Brock, the Forgemaster of Pyrstead, poured over the schematic that Pete had hastily sketched up. "These measurements must be exact?"

"Yup. The barrel has to be thick, perfectly round on the inside, and it can't be made of anything brittle, or else you have nothing but a glorified pipe-bomb. Incidentally, the ammunition—it's usually made out of lead—it has to fit the barrel almost exactly. Maybe an eighth of an inch smaller in diameter. And also perfectly round."

"Steel is out of the question for the numbers that you want," said Eld Brock, "but brass we can manage, and lead we have aplenty. I just don't understand how it's supposed to work. How can a great metal tube fling such a heavy projectile?"

Pete and Brock were in the Forgemaster's workshop, another largish cavern in the mountainside. There were anvils, crucibles, slag-heaps, fire-pits, bellows, ore-carts, and everything else one might imagine in such a busy forge. Brock stood before his workbench, and Pete knelt next to him, explaining his drawing of a cannon.

"For that, I'm going to need some other minerals, and I'm hoping that you have them here. Carbon and sulfur are the easy ones—these islands are volcanic, right?—so you've got to have brimstone. And charcoal is easy to get anywhere."

"Of course," said Brock. "They're easily found. Though brimstone is rather dangerous to look for, since it's usually found near pockets of bad vapor."

"Bad vapor?" asked Pete.

"Foul air that kills whoever breathes it," said the dwarf. "Sometimes it's pressurized, and digging into a pocket of it will cause a cave to burst or collapse. Other times, one spark, and woosh! All turns to flame. It's why they don't do much mining on Galma: the whole island is sitting on a vast, underground pocket of the bad vapors."

"It sounds like you're talking about a few different things," said Pete. "Carbon dioxide, methane gas, and sulfur dioxide."

"Oh, dash your wizardry," said the dwarf. "These ears are too old for such spell-craft! Now, what else do you need?"

"The last ingredient is saltpeter," said Peter. "It's white, crystalline, volatile… it can be synthesized, but it's a whole lot easier to dig it up if you have a source."

"Ah! I believe that the substance you require can be found on another island," said Brock. "Kettek Isle. It was prospected long ago, and some miners still dwell there. Perhaps we can trade for what we need."

"Okay," said Pete, "great. Let's… let's do this thing. When do we start?"

" _We_ start as soon as _this_ ancient dwarf can teach the younger smiths what you've taught me," said Eld Bock with a laugh. "And I must say, it's very refreshing to meet another Son of Adam at long last. You're even cleverer that Master Digory was."

Brock's speech rattled around inside Pete's brain for several moments, bouncing incoherently off of this neuron and that long-forgotten memory, before Pete finally made sense of what the dwarf had just said. "Wait. Digory? As in Digory _Kirke_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bum bum _bum_! Cliffhanger music!


	34. Chapter 34

DIGORY Kirke. The man who had started it all. The reason that Pete was in this mess to begin with. He was a mystery; and, wouldn't you know it, Pete just happened to be a detective with every conceivable reason for wanting to get to the bottom of it. Unfortunately, of all the dwarves living in Pyrstad, only Eld Brock was old enough to remember ever meeting him. None of the other dwarves had been born yet when the last of the legendary human beings had visited Narnia. In those days, Brock was a young apprentice smithy, working in the forges of the dwarven undercity at Mount Pire. Master Kirke had been a strapping youth at the time, perhaps fifteen years of age, according to Brock's memory-clouded judgment. The dwarf remembered that this Son of Adam had been an eager student of the sword, and he had proved himself better with a blade than any dwarf in a very public sparring contest. Brock had not known him personally, though, and so there weren't many other details that he could give to Peter.

The most curious part of this whole story, though, was the time-frame. The Digory Kirke that Pete had investigated, the dead professor with the wardrobe in his attic, had been eighty-two years of age when he committed suicide. That placed the date of his birth squarely in 1926. And yet, _this_ Digory Kirke, the one that Eld Brock had seen, had been in Narnia when Brock was a young dwarf, more than two hundred years ago! "It can't be a coincidence," Pete had said. "There can't be two Digory Kirkes with a connection to Narnia."

"Unless one was a relative of the other," Brock had suggested. "Perhaps my Kirke was the grandfather of yours."

"The great-great-grandfather, you mean," Pete had said. "It doesn't make a lot of sense, but it must be the case. There's no other logical explanation. Only… what happened to this other guy? I take it he tried to fight the White Witch and failed?"

"Nobody really knows," had been Brock's reply. "One day, he just disappeared off the face of the world. He lived in Narnia for several years, I think. But as far as I know, he never gathered enough of a following to pose Jadis any real threat."

* * *

It took several days of experimentation and some rather dangerous trial-and-error, but eventually, Pete and the dwarves constructed a working prototype of a proper battlefield cannon. Pete had to test various permutations of the gunpowder formula until he found something that worked, and the dwarves had to forge a brass gun that wouldn't bloat or simply explode when loaded with powder, wadding, and cannon-ball. That the Red Dwarves succeeded so quickly was a testament to their engineering skills, and soon they were able to replicate this feat on a broader scale. The Pyrstead forges became a foundry, and the smiths worked feverishly to manufacture enough cannon and munitions to arm the Islander Navy.

Meanwhile, over on Brenn Island, Grand Admiral Pwyll oversaw the massing of the fleet at Redhaven. He also kept himself apprised of intelligence reports from the spies watching Galma. The armada, it seemed, was indeed poised to defend. It was by all appearances complete and battle-ready, but it waited in place like a stalwart sentinel, a deadly barrier between Prince Peter of the Islands and the throne of Narnia's High King. Jadis did not mean to attack, at least not yet; and this gave Admiral Pwyll the initiative to act. When the Navy was ready, he needed only to consult Prince Peter and Princess Cliodhna, for he meant to propose a preemptive attack.

* * *

When Peter, Lumpkin, and Brenawen descended back to the coast of Muil Island, they brought with them a veritable procession of Red Dwarves and newly minted gunnery. The dwarves were instructed to confer with the mer-people and see about arming the Navy ships. Lumpkin and Brenawen remained with them to oversee this daunting task. As for Pete, he went back to the governor's house to search for his wife and the rest of the Narnians.

When he arrived, though, only Phineas was present. "What's up?" Pete said to the faun.

"I phrase I shall never understand," said Phineas, "but if you're looking for the others, they're all otherwise occupied."

"How so?"

Phineas's answer was simple. "Swimming."

Pete repeated this slowly. "…Swimming."

"Yes. The Princess Cliodhna hasn't come back from the beach in days on end, and Penelope and Cynthia have been down there every day, bathing with her."

Pete became red-faced and let out a heavy breath. "All three of them together? Um… I, uh… whew."

"Is something the matter, Your Highness?" asked Phineas.

"Yeah, there sure is," said Pete. "I can't tell which I could wish for more right now: a cold shower and a good game of baseball; or some lawn-chairs, lemonade, and popcorn."

"It _has_ been rather hard on the imagination these past few days," Phineas admitted. "Easy on the eyes, but hard on—"

"Do _not_ finish that sentence," said Pete. "And… hey, wait a sec! One of the women you're talking about is my _wife_!"

"And another is _my_ paramour, but you don't see me pointing fingers."

Pete rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. I've, uh, I'm gonna go find Clio.

* * *

So Pete went down to the beach. And there, sure enough, he saw Cynthia and Penelope frolicking in the ocean, and he found himself silently reciting the statistics from the Yankees' last season… and when that didn't work, he considered the Red Sox as well, just to make himself mad enough to the point of distraction. "Hey, Penny. Kiddo. Either of you seen Clio around?"

Cynthia had long ago come to understand what Pete's nickname for her, "Kiddo," essentially meant, and she found the irony amusing enough to retaliate in kind. "She's not here, Old-Timer," laughed the nymph. "She swam to Redhaven again." Cynthia pointed to the port across the strait, over on Brenn Island. Penelope, meanwhile, casually crossed her arms over her chest in order to hide her "assets" from Pete. The centauress, at least, had some understanding of the human's sense of propriety.

Cynthia did no such thing, though, which caused Pete to flush red and turn away. "Okay. Clio's not here. Got it. See you two up at the house later."

When Pete left, Cynthia turned to Penelope and asked, "What's the matter with him?"

"Humans, I've come to understand, are even more concerned with modesty than dwarves."

Cynthia turned bright red at the realization. "Oh, poor Peter!" Then she burst out laughing, and the centauress joined her.

* * *

Only several hours later did Pete learn where Cliodhna had gone off to, and this was surprising news. At first, it was also very happy news: after only a short trip to and from Terebinthia, the _Dawn Treader_ had put back in at Redhaven! We can only imagine Captain Diarmuid's surprise at seeing the whole of the Islander Navy coming together in the Seven Isles, but even this was as nothing compared to the shock he received when Princess Cliodhna arose from the water in all her glory one morning and requested permission to come aboard.

Pete had to ask around Redhaven for quite some time before he learned where the princess was: she had been spotted on the deck of a ship in the harbor, a conspicuously dragon-shaped ship with a hull of bright green. Pete hovered somewhere between elated and perplexed as he sought out the _Dawn Treader_. At last, he found the ship, and all of the merman buccaneers aboard recognized him at once. It was a brief and jovial reunion they had; only, there was no sign of either Diarmuid or Cliodhna.

Then, from the stern cabin, the both of them emerged together, sliding arm-in-arm across the deck. They were both surprised enough to see Peter there, but Cliodhna let out an audible squeak when she saw him. "Oh! Peter… I… I hadn't wanted to… not this way, but—"

Pete narrowed his eyes at his wife and said, "I take it you and Diarmuid know each other."

Cliodhna nodded, and the look of guilt on her face was reflected in a similar expression on Diarmuid's.

"Oh God," said Pete, physically stepping back from them when the realization hit him. "The two of you… you're…"

Cliodhna cast her eyes down to the deck and said, "I'm so sorry, Peter. But when Diarmuid arrived in Redhaven, I had to see him again, and—"

"I'm sorry too," said Pete. "I didn't know. Dammit, Diarmuid! We were friends! How come you never mentioned that you and the princess were old flames?"

"Remember when ye asked me about Narrowhaven?" said the merman.

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," quoted Pete. "Right. You might want to rethink that policy in the future." The human faced his wife and said, "Clio, do you love him?"

"I like you well enough, Peter," said the mermaid, "but I'm _in love_ with Diarmuid. I always have been."

"Well then, I guess somebody's got to step up and be the bigger man here," said Pete. He gave a bitter, snorting laugh and said, "It's not like we wanted to get married in the first place, is it? And anyway, I can't be with somebody who'll never fall in love with me." Pete had always hated that cliché, loving without being in love. He had never known how such a thing could be possible. Either you loved someone, or you didn't. And yet, as he thought back on his time with Cliodhna, he realized that it was an apt description for how they felt about each other. They were affectionate; and they had certainly been in lust with each other; but if Pete honestly asked himself whether he was in love with Cliodhna, he couldn't give himself a definite answer. And that was probably why it defaulted to "no." True love, Pete somehow felt, should be doubtless.

"So… you intend to free me from our marriage?" said Cliodhna in no small measure of surprise.

"That's the idea," said Pete. "How do mer-people get divorced? Any rituals or documents to deal with?"

"All you have to do is leave me," said Cliodhna, a tear forming in the corner of her eye.

"Is it what the both of you want?" asked Pete.

Cliodhna blinked and wiped her eyes, but she managed to nod in confirmation. Diarmuid said, "I would owe ye more than I'll ever be able to repay in a lifetime."

"All right then," said Pete. "I just have one more question for Cliodhna… that I need to ask her alone."

Diarmuid nodded and said, "Very well. I'll leave ye both to it." And he retreated back into the cabin.

Pete looked around and saw the sailors gathered in a crowd, pretending that they weren't hanging intently on every spoken word that passed among the threesome. "That goes for everybody," he said. At once, the gathering broke apart, and several of the pirates shuffled off or whistled to themselves and went back to work.

Cliodhna pulled Pete aside so that they could speak privately. "What is it?" she asked.

"Just one little matter," said Pete. "We've been man and wife for a few weeks now, and let's be honest: we've _really_ been acting like it. So I have to ask… what if you're pregnant?"

That upsetting question caused Cliodhna to gasp and cover her mouth with her fingers curled into a fist. "I hadn't thought of that! But… I don't _think_ I am."

"Can you be sure? Do mermaids have that 'special time of the month?'"

Cliodhna nodded. "Yes we do. And if it doesn't come for me, you'll be the first person I tell."

"That's not good enough. I can't leave a kid without a father."

"You wouldn't be," said Cliodhna. "Diarmuid is a very good man."

"I know he is," said Pete. He sighed. "What about your mother and royalty and all that jazz?"

"We'll just have to stand up to her," said Cliodhna. "Find a way to make an exception, or change the law. It would help if you succeed in your quest and become High King. She would have to listen to the High King of Narnia."

"She should listen to her own daughter," said Pete, shaking his head.

"You're a good man too, Peter Pevensie," said Cliodhna. And then she leaned forward and kissed him. It was a slow kiss, and bittersweet, and Pete knew that it meant goodbye.

The human sighed. "All right. Go get Diarmuid, and we'll make this official."

Cliodhna nodded and went to fetch the captain. They both returned a few moments later.

"Okay, friend, here's how it's gonna be," said Pete. "I'll leave the both of you alone, but I have one condition for you."

"Name it," said Diarmuid.

"You've got to give up this 'Pirates of the Caribbean' shtick and go legit. No ex-wife of mine is going to go running off with a wanted criminal."

Diarmuid nodded and said, "I can try, Prince Peter, but o' course, me career options are limited, seein' as how, criminal or no, I'll be wanted regardless."

"Give it your best shot," said Pete. "From what I understand, the woman you're going to marry has some pull in the kingdom. And, just so nobody forgets, I'm not a prince anymore."

"No you aren't," said Cliodha, "but you're certainly worthy of the title."

"Thanks," said Pete. "So… is that it? We're divorced?"

"I believe so," said the princess.

"Okay then." Pete nodded to Cliodhna and Diarmuid both, turned toward the gangplank of the _Dawn Treader_ , and left them without another word. He was free of a marriage that he had never wanted to begin with, and he was once again free of a royal title that he had wanted even less—but the price was grave, because leaving Cliodhna pained him. It hurt in a way that Pete hadn't felt since Taraiel had died.

* * *

When Pete returned to Muil Island, he found his five Narnian friends gathered in the small town half a mile up the coast from the governor's mansion. He was so dejected in his demeanor that they all knew something was the matter, and Phineas asked him, "What has happened, Your Highness?"

"I'm not a Highness anymore," said Pete. "Clio and I… we're through. Broken up. Divorced."

"How did it happen?" asked Cynthia, deep sympathy in her voice.

"I left her," said Pete. "Because she's in love with Diarmuid."

"Oh dear," said the nymph. She embraced Peter tightly, and he returned the hug, but only stiffly.

"Where does that leave us, then?" asked Lumpkin. "What of the Jadis's armada, and our plans to attack it?"

"I don't think it changes much," said Pete. "The Islanders still want to take Glama back for themselves. They're welcome to it, if it gets us to Cair Paravel. And besides, Clio can smooth things over with the admiral if she has to. But I doubt that it'll be necessary."

"What are you going to do now?" asked Brenawen.

"The same thing that any guy in any universe would do after he gets divorced," said Pete. "Find a bar and get shitfaced."

Penelope interjected at this point, "I realize that we all still have much to learn about human speech, but, does that mean that you intend to drink yourself into a stupor and embarrass yourself in front of the whole island?"

"Pretty much," said Pete, "and before you ask, I know you'd love to come along and say your 'I-told-you-so's,' but you're not invited. Men only. Finny, Lumpkin, care to join me in getting wasted over guy-talk?"

"Of course, Lord Peter," said Phineas. "It's the least we can do for you right now."

"Fantastic," said Pete. "Ladies," he added, bowing his head to the girls in a gesture of departure.

"Wait," said Penelope. "What is meant by 'guy-talk?'"

Before Pete could explain, Cynthia said, "He means to discuss those delicate subjects that only males will understand."

"Ah," said Penelope. "So, lots of grunting and pointing, then?"

Pete grinned and said, "You know, Penny, I've missed that witty rapport that we'd built up over the past few months. It's kind of nice to have it back."

"It's the least that I can do for you right now, Lord Peter."

* * *

As Pete had predicted, the sudden and unexpected dissolution of his marriage to the princess had no measurable effect on the Grand Admiral's plans. On a bright morning in late June, the Royal Navy of the Sea Kingdom set sail for the island of Galma. The ships were laden with sailors and soldiers, both merrow and dwarf; and with the brass cannon that the smiths of Pyrstead had forged. The dwarves had been taught how to man the guns, and they in turn trained the sea-folk in the same art. As for Pete and the Narnians, they continued to sail on the Grand Admiral's galleon. Captain Diarmuid and the _Dawn Treader_ were coming with the fleet, and Diarmuid had offered bunks to Pete and his company, but Pete didn't relish the idea of sailing on the same ship as Princess Cliodhna right now, and so he tactfully declined. Nevertheless, Pete's mood didn't stay dreary for long. He was single again, he wasn't royalty anymore, and he still wasn't a vampire (which was something he checked for more frequently than you might guess). Taken altogether, that was a lot to be optimistic about. Plus, assuming the Royal Navy made good speed to Galma, he would get to witness some fireworks come this Fourth of July. Altogether, that wasn't too shabby.


	35. Chapter 35

ON the fourth day out from Redhaven, the sails of the Islander ships slackened, and the wind died down to nothing. The fleet had drifted into the doldrums, and it would have been caught there, had it not been for the presence of the Narrhowhaven Bards. The Bards sailed aboard the admiral's galleon, just as Pete and the Narnians did; and when this eerie stillness set upon the fleet and caused all of the ships to slow to a halt and then drift listlessly, Grand Admiral Pwyll summoned all of his passengers to meet in one of the ship's offices.

"This isn't natural," said Pwyll. "We've not so much as a gentle breeze behind our sails, and yet we're much too far north for the wind to die so completely."

"You suspect sorcery?" asked Oghma the Bard.

"More like witchcraft," said Pete. "This is Jadis's doing."

"Perhaps," said the admiral. "Master Oghma, can you and your Bards counter this magic, if magic it be?"

"Whether magic or no, we can try to sing for the wind," said Oghma, bowing his head before the admiral. The other six bards mimicked the gesture.

"Please do so, then," said Pwyll. As the Bards left the office, the admiral turned and faced the Narnians. "I had hoped for the element of surprise, but it seems that our Enemy knows we are coming."

"Jadis is the mistress of winter," said Phineas. "A stillness in the air is the least of our worries, if she means to cast spells at us from afar."

"Let us hope, then, that our Bards prove her equal and more," said the admiral.

* * *

The Narrhowaven Bards gathered on the deck of the galleon, and they began their spell-song. The notes carried on the still air, out to a vast distance. Then, from somewhere else in the fleet, an eighth voice added itself to that of the Seven Bards: it was Princess Cliodhna, combining her own melody with the spell-song's. The air stirred, and then a breeze picked up, and at last a full gust of wind filled all the sails in the fleet. The ships' canvasses pulled taut, the boats picked up speed, and they were underway once more.

The fair wind continued for some weeks more, and as the days rolled by, Pete came into the habit of standing at the ship's bow alone, hanging over the forward gunwale and watching the galleon cut through the choppy water. Cold wind whipped his face and stung his cheeks, but he liked the feeling anyway. It was lively and calming all at once.

Then, one evening, his five companions approached him while he was yet engrossed in staring out to sea. "My lord?" said Phineas.

Pete looked over his shoulder and saw his friends. "Hey, guys. How's it hanging?"

"You're the one doing all the 'hanging,'" said Cynthia, "dangling yourself in front of the ship like a figurehead!"

"I'm not dangling!" said Pete. "See? Both feet, firmly on deck, and _inside_ the railing."

"But you're spending a great deal of time up here, all alone, and not talking to anybody," said Penelope.

"And you're all concerned?" said Pete. "Don't be. I'm just clearing my head. Thinking some things over. And I like to keep an eye out for icebergs."

"Icebergs, Lord Peter?" asked Brenawen.

"Sure," said Pete. "If the Witch can send bad weather our way, she might decide to send icebergs too, and then our little voyage would end up like it did for Jack and Rose."

"Do we even want to know who Jack and Rose are?" asked Phineas.

"Probably not. _Titanic_ was even more of a pain to sit through than _Gone with the Wind_." Pete turned himself around and sat back on the railing. "So… anything in particular you all wanted to ask about?"

"We just wanted to see how you're doing," said Cynthia. "After everything that's happened…"

Pete cut the dryad off by nodding his head and saying, "Yeah. Yeah, it's all been a ride, hasn't it? But I'm okay. Really."

"You are quite certain, Lord Peter?" said Lumpkin.

"Yep. I've just about had it up to here," Pete put his hand level with the top of his head, "with all drama in my life, so I'm done with it. No more whining, no more sulking. It's time I focused on winning this war for the good guys."

Penelope said, "It's a great relief to hear you say that, Peter."

"Well, I figure, Clio moved on. She got the guy she wanted. And Tara, if she were here to say something about it, would want me to move on too. So… this is me, moving on. The soap-opera ends here."

Phineas grinned. "'Soap-opera?' Oh dear, but Your Lordship simply _must_ explain that one."

"I… I don't think I can," said Pete after thinking for a moment. "It's a little bit too involved." He looked up at the sky, and the stars were just starting to come out. There were a couple of very bright ones visible near the crescent-moon—two bright stars that shone red and orange, but neither one twinkled. "Hey," said Pete, pointing them out, "those are planets, right?"

"Yes they are," said Penelope. "The red one is Tarva, and the bright orange one is called Alambil. My people have watched the stars and planets for ages and ages, and some of my race can make predictions from what they read in the sky."

"Huh," said Pete. "I always thought astrology was bunk, but in _this_ world? Who knows." After a moment, his eyes widened, and he said, "I can't believe it's taken me this long to ask, but what do you call _this_ planet, anyway?"

The question was met with a round of blank stares. "Which planet, my lord?" asked Phineas.

" _This_ one," said Pete. "The one under our feet. The world."

"I don't understand," said Phineas. "What do the wandering stars have to do with the world beneath us?"

"Because the 'wandering stars,'" said Pete (and, of course, he raised his hands and made "air quotes" with his fingers when he said "wandering stars"), "are also worlds. And this world is also a planet. The planets all go around the sun, and the sun is just an ordinary star. All the other stars the sky, the ones that don't move, they're just distant suns, probably with other worlds orbiting them."

Phineas and Penelope only stared at Pete curiously, but Lumpkin and Brenawen laughed aloud. "What an imagination you have, my lord!" said Lumpkin. "You almost had me going there for a moment, but of course it's all nonsense. The world is solid and unmoving beneath our feet."

"Yeah, sure, and I bet you think it's flat, too," said Pete with a roll of his eyes.

"Well of course it is," said Cynthia. "What other shape could it be?"

"Uh… a sphere, maybe?" said Pete. "Worlds are _round_." When he met more incredulous stares and politely stifled laughter from his friends, Pete just scowled and said, "Okay, answer me this: when a ship sails into the distance, does it shrink to a point and vanish, or do you see it dip down over the horizon, hull first, then masts and sails?"

The Narnians fell silent at that. "It sinks down, bottom first and top last," Lumpkin admitted finally.

"And how would that be possible, unless the world's surface were curved?" asked Pete.

"Oh dear," said Lumpkin. "This… this… that's quite true, and so, therefore, the world must be… oh, dear." Lumpkin tugged on his beard and turned away, silently muttering confused half-sentences to himself.

"Uh-oh," said Pete. "I think I broke him."

"I'll take him back to our bunk," said Brenawen. "And, please, Lord Peter, in the future, if you have anymore brilliant new ideas aimed at shattering our very picture of the world, might you perchance keep them to yourself?"

"I'll try," said Pete. "But I should warn you, I'm incorrigible." As Brenawen led Lumpkin away, Pete turned back to the others and said, "So, back to my question. This world. Narnia, Archenland, Calormen, the Eastern Ocean… what's it all called?"

Phineas stroked the tuft of curly black beard on his chin and said, "There are many stories that my people have passed down since our old city was destroyed. They speak of the Ancients, the human beings who ruled this world in the Elder Days, before the witches came. From what I can recall, _they_ called this world 'Dünya.'"

"Dünya," said Pete, nodding and smiling. "Cool."

* * *

Pete's prediction about icebergs never came true. The ocean remained clear and unfrozen, even as they sailed north for Galma. It was the middle of summer, after all, and the Witch's curse affected Narnia, not the Sea Kingdom. Then, of a sudden, an entire pod of dolphins appeared by the side of the admirals' galleon one day, leaping out of the water and diving back in again, squeaking and chattering as they did so. "Ah," said Pwyll, coming to stand near Pete on the forecastle, "the spies report back to us."

Pete looked over at the stiff-necked, older merman and said, "You understand what the dolphins are saying?"

"Of course," said the admiral. "They tell me that the enemy armada is positioned ahead of us, perhaps one more day's sailing. Dolphins make the very best intelligence operatives a navy could hope for."

"Until the Vogons come," quipped Pete. "Then it's 'so long, and thanks for all the fish.'"

The admiral hemmed and hawed and clasped his hands behind his back. "Quite so," he said at last, though, of course, he had no idea what Pete was talking about.

* * *

"Ships ahoy!" was the cry that carried over every vessel in the Islander Navy. Jadis, it seemed, had chosen to place her great armada some distance out from Galma, an effective blockade for any single ship trying to break through and make for Cair Paravel—but hardly a match for the whole of Queen Morrigan's Royal Navy. The battle plan had been discussed at length and finalized back in Redhaven, and all of the sailors had been well-trained in the use of Pete's new kind of weapon. All of this meant one thing: the battle to come would be short and easily fought, for all its massive scale. With more than a hundred ships on either side of the battle, an ordinary ship-to-ship fight using the tactics native to this world would have been protracted and bloody for both sides. But that was not fated to happen on this day.

As soon as the two fleets spotted each other, they sailed into attack formations, pairing off to shoot arrows and harpoons and ballista bolts, and throw grapnels and board enemy ships for hand-to-hand combat. But then the Islander vessels turned sideways and proceeded to broadside the Narnian and Calormene ships with round after hot, leaden round from brass guns. The sound of thunder, like nothing any soldier or sailor there had ever heard before, echoed over the open sea. Armada ships were battered and crippled at ranges unheard of, for a cannon could fire a ball much farther than a ballista could fling a quarrel, and the damage caused by the cannon was that much more devastating.

After only a small taste of this blasting and battering, the armada fell apart. Calormene schooners surrendered or tried to flee south. Narnian ships—crewed by goblins, hobgoblins, and Black Dwarves—turned north and tried to limp back to Galma. Grand Admiral Pwyll gave the order, though, to pursue and destroy. All the ships that he caught up with, he fired upon or set fire to, and they were sunk. If any survivors were found, whether jinn or dwarf or goblin, they were taken prisoner and clapped in irons or tossed in a brig. But the battle as a whole was a disaster for Narnia, a complete rout, and a stunning victory for the Sea Kingdom.

* * *

"And we owe it all to your human weapons," said Grand Admiral Pwyll at dinner that evening. "Those glorious guns of yours have carried the day, my lad! Er, I mean, my lord!"

Somehow, though, Pete couldn't bring himself to bask in the glory. He had seen the battle from a top-notch, front-row seat, in Technicolor, and had been an ugly thing. True, the Islanders had lost few ships and suffered far fewer casualties, but the drowning death-throes of goblins and dwarves yet rang in Pete's ears. "You're welcome," was all he could bring himself to say to the admiral.

The galleon's officers, the Narnian party, and the Bards of Narrowhaven were gathered around a large table that took up nearly all the space in the cramped, shipboard dining-room. "It was a splendid battle, and brilliantly fought," said Lumpkin, calmly buttering a biscuit and stuffing it into his mouth. He raised a mug and added, "A toast: to the ingenuity of humans, the diligence of dwarves, and, er, well, the seamanship of the sea-folk."

"Well put, my little friend," said Oghma, smiling. He raised his glass, and so did the other Bards, the grand admiral, and the Narnians.

Pete stared at his plate and idly scraped a fork over the surface of it. The screeching noise made everybody stop what they were doing and look at him. Pete suddenly felt that every eye in the room was on him, and he looked up. "We're celebrating," he said. "Why are we celebrating the start of a war?"

"We're celebrating the end of a battle!" said Penelope. "The war won't end soon or all at once, but still we must take whatever good may come, as it comes."

"I quite agree," added Phineas. "Narrow your perspective, Lord Peter, and you'll see that we're simply living in the moment."

"I don't exactly have that luxury," said Pete. "You're all dead-set on making me king, and that puts the big picture squarely in my lap at all times."

Cynthia was about to jump into the conversation, when an ensign came into the dining room and said, "Admiral Pwyll, sir, you're going to want to come topside and see this."

* * *

All at once, the dining room emptied. Everybody there rushed up onto the deck and looked ahead. It was evening, but even still, they could all see the high column of cloud and shadow, a mass of solid _blackness_ , standing directly in their path.

"What _is_ that?" said Brenawen, squinting through the gloom.

"Storm-clouds," said Admiral Pwyll. "A winter storm."

"Whatever it is, it's not moving," said Phineas. "It just sits in place… like a wall of ill weather."

The admiral called for a spyglass and then looked out to the waters ahead. "Ice floes," he pronounced. "You can barely see them through the snowfall, but they're there."

"Aw, I _knew_ we'd run into icebergs," grumbled Pete. "Admiral, you can't take us much further than this. It's way too dangerous for the fleet."

"You're quite right, of course," said Pwyll, but he sounded very disappointed to admit it. If the navy had to turn back now, the admiral would lose his chance to recapture Galma for the greater glory of Queen Morrigan. "But what will you do now, Lord Peter? Your destination lies beyond, on the shores of Narnia! Will you let some ice and snow bar your way?"

Pete gazed at the stormy weather ahead. Then he arrived at a decision. "No," said Pete, "but I won't risk taking more than one ship into that mess."

Cynthia shook her head. "Oh, Peter, you can't mean—!"

"Yeah, Kiddo, I do. We're going to have to ask Captain Diarmuid if we can take the _Dawn Treader._ "

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding "Dünya." Obviously, C.S. Lewis never named the world that Narnia sits in. I needed a name for the world, since I'm aiming for a different cosmology here, and I decided to follow another of his examples. Lewis derived the name "Aslan" from the Turkish word for "lion," and "Tash" from the word for "stone." "Dünya" is just the Turkish word for "world," and it has the added benefit of looking like some elvish word that the good Professor Tolkien could have made up.


	36. Chapter 36

"WHY must we do this?" asked Cynthia. "Can't the Bards simply calm the weather with their magic?"

"I already asked Oghma about that," said Pete. "He says they'll have enough trouble as it is just keeping one ship safe from the storm."

"Wait," said Cynthia. "The Bards are coming with us?"

"Actually, we insisted."

Pete and Cynthia were standing on the deck of the _Dawn Treader._ The Narnians had already moved their gear from the admiral's flagship to their old bunks on Diarmuid's ship. And now, it seemed, the Bards were doing the same—for the voice that had just answered Cynthia belonged to Melusine, one of the Seven Bards, a mermaid with pink scales on her tail and hair of an even brighter green than the dryad's. Melusine was the youngest of all the Bards in Oghma's circle, by two decades and change; she was also a few years younger than Princess Cliodhna. Whereas Oghma and the other Bards had mastered the magic of siren-songs with a lifetime of study, this girl Melusine had earned her place among them for being something of a prodigy. She had a special talent for tapping into the Deep Magic with her voice.

"But why would you do that?" asked Cynthia. "Don't you know how dangerous this is going to be? And what if the Queen's Navy needs your magic more than we do?"

"Danger doesn't frighten us," said Melusine. "And we Bards are disciples of Aslan, not the Sea-Queen. The prophecies say that Aslan will go into Narnia before Jadis is defeated, and we want to be there to meet him."

"Matter of fact, he's already in Narnia," said Pete. "We sort of met him on the border. Nice guy, but even when he promises to speak plainly, he's a little bit cryptic."

Melusine turned a surprised look on Pete. "You've _met_ Aslan? In person?"

"Uh, yeah. But it's probably not a good idea to go—"

"I must tell Master Oghma and the other Bards at once! The prophecies… at last, they're coming true!" The mermaid slithered off before either Pete or Cynthia could get another word in edgewise.

"Well this isn't good," said Pete.

* * *

The news spread quickly among the crew of the _Dawn Treader_ after the frantic young mermaid had gone running off to tell Oghma all about Pete's having met Aslan. Pete knew that it wouldn't go over well with his friends that he and Cynthia had kept the meeting a secret, and Pete braced himself for a severe tongue-lashing from Penelope. But, astonishingly, the lashing never came. After an hour or so of nervous waiting, Pete asked Cynthia how this might be possible, and the nymph sheepishly admitted that she had told Phineas everything quite a long time ago. So Pete went to ask Phineas who he had told, and the faun cheerfully admitted to having broached the subject with Lumpkin. That explained it, of course, because Lumpkin would have told Penelope at some point, and obviously, Brenawen too.

So that was one great weight lifted off of Pete's shoulders. The other involved Diarmuid and Cliodhna.

The pirate-captain and the princess had insisted on marrying as soon as possible. Ergo, on the very day that the fleet had set out from Redhaven, Master Oghma had been asked to preside over a second of Princess Cliodhna's weddings. The Chief Bard had not been happy to hear that Pete had divorced Cliodhna, for a wedding officiated by a Bard involved sacred vows spoken in Aslan's name. But Diarmuid and Cliodhna had insisted on a prompt ceremony, and Pete had put in a word for them as well; so Oghma had had little choice but to bow before royal authority and perform the wedding. Consequently, the whole of the nearly three-week journey between Redhaven and Galma had been a second honeymoon for the princess, this time shared with a man she truly loved.

Then, in the aftermath of the great battle fought between the Islander Navy and the Galmatian Armada, Pete had asked Diarmuid if the _Dawn Treader_ could take them all the way to Narnia. The captain had readily assented, of course, for he still claimed to owe Pete a lifetime of favors for stepping aside and freeing Cliodhna—and if Pete needed to go to Cair Paravel, Diarmuid would see him there, come hell or high water. Talk of danger would dissuade neither the captain nor his royal bride, for Cliodhna said that she felt invincible by the side of her dashing rogue of a husband. And even now, the faith they had in each other showed in every moment that they spent together—which was most moments, since they never seemed to leave each other's side. Even when the captain was on duty and overseeing his ship, Clio was there to hang on his every word or action; and Diarmuid returned her every attention in kind. In short, they were _happily_ married. Pete could see this because it was obvious to anybody; and he didn't want to look as if he were trying to interfere. But circumstances had conspired to throw them all together again.

The _Dawn Treader_ and the Royal Navy hadn't yet parted ways, when Pete found himself looking nostalgically at Clio and Diarmuid from the deck of the pirate-captain's own ship. He caught himself wishing, occasionally and for just a moment, that he were in Diarmuid's place…

"I hope you're not feeling jealous."

Pete gave a start and spun around. Penelope had somehow managed to creep up behind him without his noticing. "Jeez, Penny! I wish everybody would quit sneaking up on me."

"I wasn't sneaking; I was _trying_ to get your attention! But you were obviously too preoccupied to notice."

Pete looked back at the happy couple (Diarmuid and Cliodhna were sitting above the aftercastle together, their hands clasped and their fishtails intertwined, making moony-eyed gazes at each other) and then returned his attention to Penelope. "I'm not jealous. Not over Diarmuid being with Clio, anyway. But I do wish that I could find what they have."

"Don't we all?" said Penelope.

Pete smirked. "I guess, when it comes down to it, we're all just a bunch of romantic idiots."

Penelope feigned shock and whimsically said, "Speak for yourself, human!"

"Okay, _I'm_ a romantic idiot. _You_ are a very sensible, badass, sword-fighting centaur-chick."

"I think that might be the sweetest thing that anybody's ever said to me," said Penelope without a drop of sincerity in her voice.

"What can I say? I'm a sweet-talker."

"You're a horse's arse, is what you are."

"That better be some kind of weird centaur compliment," said Pete. He chucked Penelope lightly on the upper arm.

"You… you just hit me," said the centauress in disbelief. "What was that for?"

"It's a friendly gesture. Humans do it all the time."

"Oh." Penelope returned the favor by punching Pete in the arm. Hard.

"Ow! _Penny_!"

* * *

At last, Grand Admiral Pwyll became satisfied that the blizzard ahead was indeed a magical obstacle and not likely to subside on its own. So the Islander fleet turned southeast and charted a course for home, while the _Dawn Treader_ pushed northwest into the gloomy winter-night. If Diarmuid was master and commander of the _Treader_ , then Cliodhna was now its rightful mistress. And along with them sailed Pete Pevensie, the five rebels from Narnia, and the Seven Bards of the sea-people. They sailed into the unnaturally frigid waters, picking a careful course between the icebergs that floated everywhere now. Snow flurried and fell in heaps, and the deck had to be cleared often. Slick frost also formed on the planks and the rigging, making normal ship's business more dangerous than usual. But the real peril came from the chance that the water ahead could turn to a solid sheet of ice at any moment, and the _Dwan Treader_ might run aground on it before she could be steered clear. A constant watch was posted to make sure that the course they kept was free of any frozen floes.

The wind still howled and the snow still fell when Galma came into view. Weather like this should have buried or frozen or sunk a small ship like the _Dawn Treader_ , but for the songs of the Bards, which kept the worst of it at bay and prevented some small part of Jadis's evil spell from touching the ship. Cliodhna and the Bards sang carols of warmth and cheer, and the subtle magic in these songs helped to stave off winter's icy hands. At last, they made it to the shores of the last island (or, as the Narnians tended to think of it, the first island) of the Eastern Ocean in safety.

* * *

A great many Narnian warships were anchored along the southern coast of Galma. The island itself was large, high, and rocky, with sheer cliffs on three sides of it and pebbly beaches along the south shore only. On the island's easternmost point, where the cliffs were highest, an immense stone fortress sat on the edge of a tall bluff. This was Fort Galma, Jadis's beachhead into the Eastern Ocean, and the base from which her armada had received its orders.

"It is doubtless manned almost entirely by goblins," Brenawen explained. "Nobody _decent_ has lived on Galma for centuries, and dwarves would never come to live here regardless."

The _Dawn Treader_ had circled around to the north of the island to avoid being spotted by the warships, and now she was anchored in a small cove flanked by high rock walls. The cliffsides here were peppered with small cave-openings.

"I remember Eld Brock saying something like that back in Pyrstead," said Pete. "That dwarves avoided Galma."

"Because it's too dangerous to mine here," said Lumpkin. "The whole island is practically hollow, with caves crisscrossing caves like holes in a soft cake, and some of the openings underneath are filled with a cursed vapor that kills the breath and catches like hellfire!"

Pete grew pensive, and several minutes dragged by while he pondered in silence. "I don't like it," he said at last. "Jadis almost certainly conjured up this blizzard to cover her armada's retreat, and now there are a whole lot of ships on that beach, so even if we make it to Narnia—"

"Jadis has a spare army just a stone's throw away, and she has kept enough ships to move it quickly, should she need to," said Penelope. "If we bring a force to assault Cair Parvel, she could box us in from behind."

"—And _that_ , ladies and gentlemen, is why I put _her_ in charge of the rebel army," said Pete, pointing to the centauress with his thumb. "Exactly the problem I was thinking of. So, the way I see it, we need to do some scouting. Get onto that island somehow and see what we're up against."

"That could prove difficult," said Phineas. "We'll never get onto the southern beach with all of those ships in the way."

"We could swim," suggested Cliodhna. "Some of us, anyway. We could sneak onto the beach, look around the island, and report back what we find."

"Nah," said Pete, "no need to risk it. We can go _that_ way." He pointed to the natural walls of the cove, and to all of the little cave-mouths. "Lumpkin, Brenawen, you guys are coming with me. The three of us are going to do a little spelunking."

* * *

Pete and the two dwarves managed to climb over the lip of one of the lower, larger cave-mouths. Once on solid footing, Lumpkin led the way. The expertise of Red Dwarves at negotiating underground tunnels was unparalleled, after all. They knew which kinds of rock to follow, which formations were safe and which weren't, and how to follow their noses and stay in caves with fresh air. It wasn't long, though, before the three spelunkers found one of the vapor-vents that so worried dwarven miners.

"Phew!" said Brenawen. "It smells like a privy!"

"It's natural gas," said Pete. "The whole island must be sitting over one huge pocket. A giant bubble of the stuff."

"Whatever it is, we must avoid it," said Lumpkin. "It's the great danger of Galma."

A few minutes later, the dwarf was forced to revise that assessment… because the next series of tunnels that they came into had some very distinct, very familiar claw-marks all along the walls. "I know these markings," said Lumpkin, his voice quavering in fright. "Trolls!"

"Trolls?" Brenawen whispered back. "We need to get out of here, now!"

"Trolls," said Pete. "Those are the, uh, the big nasty things that we don't ever want to see again ever, right?"

"Right!" said Lumpkin. "Slaying one troll is enough for a lifetime."

Stars filled Brenawen's eyes as she regarded her husband. "You've slain a troll?"

"Er, well, yes. I didn't mention this? I, uh—I had help, of course, and—"

"Psst! Lovebirds! It's time to go!" said Pete. "Save the storytelling for when we get back to the ship!"

And so the trio turned and retraced its path back out of the caves. "This at least settles one question," said Brenawen. "There aren't likely to be any dwarf or centaur soldiers here. Trolls prey upon them. The only things they won't eat on sight are goblin-kind, because the trolls and the goblins are kith and kin. If Jadis has placed those giant beasts here, then goblins must be the ones keeping the trolls."

"Goblins," muttered Pete. "Those are the guys who turned me over to Serpens. I wish that we could just…" At that moment, they once again passed the methane vent, and inspiration struck Pete like a tiny light-bulb clicking on inside his mind. "Hold it," he said. "We need to get some stuff from the ship and come back here."

"Come back?" said Lumpkin. "Why ever would we do that?"

"Because," said Pete, "we've just been presented with a target of opportunity, and I mean to take it out."

* * *

Once they were back aboard the _Dawn Treader_ , Pete assembled everybody on the deck and said, "Okay, new plan. All of the gunpowder that we brought for the cannons? Pack it up." The _Dawn Treader_ had been equipped with two brass guns for the battle, and six full powderkegs yet rested in her hold. Pete only hoped it would be enough.

"What are you planning?" asked Phineas.

"This whole island is a giant Roman candle," said Pete. "I'm going to light it up."

"That's mad!" said Penelope. "You'll be killed!"

"Not if I use a long enough fuse," said Pete. "I can set it from the cave entrance and get clear before the spark gets anywhere near that gas-vent."

"But… what will this do to the island?" asked Cliodhna.

Pete said nothing, but he mimed an explosion with his fingers and silently mouthed the word, "boom."

* * *

The crew of the _Dawn Treader_ worked quickly and quietly under Pete's direction. A dozen of the mermen helped to carry the six kegs into cave and set them by the vent, while Pete brought a long, oil-soaked rope to serve as a makeshift fuse. Pete had the sailors pile the kegs right in the intersection of the two tunnels, where the natural gas could mix with the oxygen. Then he set the rope into a hole in one of the kegs and started rolling it back, back, back along the way that they had come. The mermen left the tunnel altogether and swam back to the ship, but Pete had to stop when the rope came to an end, perhaps fifty yards from the cave mouth. That was quite a distance to run from inside of a slick, winding, uneven tunnel, but he figured that the fuse was long enough to give him three or four minutes to get clear, so it wouldn't be _too_ dangerous. He pulled out that old cigarette lighter of his… and flicked it on… and set the flame to the oiled rope. It caught at once, and the tiny flame raced away down the tunnel.

"Holy crap," grunted Pete as he raced in the opposite direction, tearing for the cave-opening at his best speed. He dove out the end and plunged head-first into the water… and then a familiar set of arms grabbed him and pulled him to the surface. It was Cliodhna. "Hang on, Peter," she said. "This water is much too cold for a human!"

"Y-y-y-you're t-t-telling m-me," said Pete through chattering teeth.

The mermaid dragged Pete through the water, careful to keep his head above the surface. At last, they made it to the _Dawn Treader_ , and the crew helped to haul them both up.

Cynthia and Penelope came forward with blankets and heated wine for Pete. Before they could tend to him, though, Pete said to Diarmuid, "G-g-get the anchor up. G-get us out of here."

In that moment, a gout of flame burst forth from the cave opening that Pete had just come from… and then another jet came from another cave… and then another… and another… and then it seemed as if the sky over Galma were the inferno of hell itself; and a terrific, dull, thudding _boom_ sounded from somewhere deep underground. Geysers of orange light sprang up all over the island, and waves of heat made the air ripple and shift.

The sailors panicked and rushed to weigh anchor. Diarmuid shouted orders and kept them working together towards getting away quickly. The _Dawn Treader_ pulled out of the cove, leaving the island-wide blaze in its wake. Pete sat on the deck, huddled in the blanket, but he noticed that his friends were staring at him… with fear in their eyes.

Pete rose, cast aside the covering, and basked in the sweltering warmth that rolled off of Galma. "Take that!" he suddenly shouted over the side of the ship. "Take that, Jadis! I hope you can see this from Castle Dracula, Serpens! 'Pete Pevensie was here,' you bastards, and I'm coming for _you_ next!"

Penelope grabbed Pete by the shoulders and pulled him away from the side of the ship. "Peter, what's gotten into you?"

"Nothing, Penny. Just enjoying the moment. After all, we're successful terrorist bombers now." There was an edge to Pete's voice, a hardness that the Narnians had only heard once before—in Tashbaan, when he had stormed off with Jill Greene to try and find his way home. "I don't know about you guys, but I've had a full day, so I'm going to go get some sleep." Without another word, he went down into the ship and headed for his bunk.

"What was _that?_ " asked Cynthia worriedly.

"That," said Phineas, "was Peter… moved on."


	37. Chapter 37

PENELOPE followed Pete down into the hold of the _Dawn Treader_. She found him lazing on his hammock, staring up at the ceiling. "Lord Peter?"

Pete rolled over, showing Penelope his back. "Save it for the morning. I said I wanted to get some sleep."

"You're starting to worry us again," said Penelope. "You need to know that we all care about you, Peter."

Pete sighed, sat up in the hammock, and faced the centauress. "Tell the others that they can quit worrying so much. We're at war; war is hell; and this time, I mean business. Plus, I _did_ say that it was no more Mr. Nice Guy."

"You _said_ that you were done sulking about the past," Penelope corrected. "Peter, you just _blew up an island._ That's a bit more dramatic than not sulking!"

"It had to be done, right? Tactically, we couldn't just leave a fortress full of goblins and trolls behind us. And anyway, you should be happy that I'm finally sticking it to the witch!"

"Not if it costs you too much."

"Like what, my soul?" scoffed Pete.

"Like your right mind!" said Penelope. "You… scared us up there."

"I hope I didn't give you the craps."

"The creeps," said Penelope softly. She smiled wanly and said, "Look, I don't mean to be a nag—"

"You realize that 'nag' is a synonym for 'horse,' right?"

"Will you stop it?" said Penelope, punching Pete in the arm again. "I'm trying to be serious here!"

Pete rubbed his upper arm. "You've still got a heck of a right hook there…"

"We centaurs are very strong. As I was saying, Peter, I'm not trying to be a bother, but friendships run both ways, and if _you_ need to get anything off of _your_ chest, I'm willing to listen."

Pete stared into Penelope's eyes for several moments, boring into her with his gaze. The centauress thought that Pete's eyes were colder than she remembered them. His face was like granite. At last, he said, "Thanks, Penny. But I'm fine. Really. You should get some rest too; we'll all need to be at the top of our game when we turn down the home-stretch and run for the Cair."

Penelope bowed her head. "As you wish, milord." She left Pete in his hammock and went to find the hay-bail in the aft quarter of the hold that served as her own sleeping-place.

* * *

Cair Paravel was almost directly west of Galma, but sailing straight to the high palace of Narnia would be suicide, they all knew. The vampire Serpens used Cair Paravel as one of his lairs, and Queen Jadis had created him the titled count of all the lands around it. That virtually ensured that the Cair would be well-defended by the vampire's army of the dead—skeletons and zombies, ghouls and ghasts, wights and wraiths, spectres and spooks, and who only knew what else—but only at nighttime, of course, for the undead were evil spirits whose substance dissolved into nothingness when the daylight came. Even still, while the dead rested beneath the earth, Cair Paravel would doubtlessly be guarded by whatever _living_ troops that Jadis had seen fit to give over to her Black Knight and Champion—centaurs, dwarves, goblins, and perhaps even trolls. Without Serpens and the undead, the Cair would be weaker during the day, and Pete hoped to exploit that weakness when the time came, but he still needed his own army to lay the castle a proper siege.

So Pete asked Diarmuid to sail southwesterly and make for the mouth of the Glasswater. For the first several days of this last leg of their sea-voyage, they avoided the coastline and all the land near Cair Paravel. Then the _Dawn Treader_ adjusted its course slightly westward, and after that they remained within sight of shore. They skirted the coasts all the way south, until they came at last to the mouth of the great river that flowed eastward out of Narnia and emptied into the sea. The river was wide and navigable, and so the _Dawn Treader_ turned upstream and headed inland.

* * *

The Islander pirate-ship dropped anchor and came to rest near a broad, high, grassy riverbank. An encampment of sorts was situated on the south bank—a collection of tents flying flags of red and yellow. The flags depicted a golden lion: they were the banners of Aslan. The crew of the _Dawn Treader_ debarked and all stood with feet, hooves, or finned tails upon Narnian soil at long last.

"Narnia," said Brenawen. "I wondered that I would ever see it again."

"Grass," said Penelope, looking down at the green ground. "Where has all the snow gone?"

"If I had to take my guess, Jadis sent it all out to sea after _us_ ," said Phineas, still shivering from the memory of their cold voyage.

"It won't truly be spring until Peter sits on the king's throne, though," said Cynthia. "The spell over Narnia is weakened, but hardly broken."

Pete strode past all of them and said, "Let's go say 'hi' to the happy campers."

The procession that formed behind Pete was an odd one indeed, for the human was flanked by a centauress, a faun, a dryad, two dwarves, and a whole company of merrows—Diarmuid, Cliodhna, the Seven Bards of Narrowhaven, and the pirate-crew of the _Dawn Treader._ They moved over the open wold and approached the conglomeration of red and yellow canvass tents. Many races milled about between them: centaurs and fauns, nymphs and dwarves, and even elves. There were talking animals of many varieties too: mice, beavers, foxes, wild dogs, great cats, birds, horses, and too many other species to list.

"I've been away from Narnia for so long, I'd almost forgotten about the talking animals," said Pete. "This is going to take some getting used to."

Of course, as soon as the human and his entourage were spotted, everybody in the camp fell silent, dropped what they were doing, and stared. Startled, excited whispers drifted through the crowd. "That's him." "That's the Son of Adam." "That's Lord Peter!" "I journeyed to Archenland with him." "He saved us from slavery on Terebinthia!" And, indeed, it seemed that many of the faces here were familiar: former slaves who had been freed by Pete's clever deception back on Terebinthia, and even more astonishingly, all of the centaur and faun rebels that they had left in Anvard!

Penelope recognized several faces and rushed joyfully ahead to greet them. "Jocasata! Naussus! Eikron!" A centauress and two centaurs had been milling about in the crowd, when Penelope spied them and remembered these troops who had escaped from the witch's western garrison with her. They had followed Pete all the way to the seat of the elf-kingdom with her. The centauress, Jocasta, laughed and embraced her long-absent captain.

"Milady Penelope!" she said, gleeful at the reunion. "You were away for so long, we'd all feared the worst—and when the Tisroc's messengers reached Anvard and told us that Queen Taraiel had been _killed_ by Count Serpens—"

"What happened when the elves learned this news?" asked Penelope.

"They were enraged," said the centaur Eikron. "The elves' new ruler, King Rashiel, vowed to see Narnia's Black Knight destroyed, and two whole legions of elvish infantry were sent here with us. Their commander is known to you: the late queen's brother, the hybrid, Falon."

Pete, who had caught up to Penelope by now, was surprised by that. "Rashiel seemed like a pretty sensible guy when we met him. Why would he put a nut like Falon in charge of an army?"

Eikron smiled. "Commander Falon is eccentric, but he's not as crazy as he lets on. And do not forget, he was raised by hobgoblins. He is a fierce and intelligent warrior."

"So… Falon led all of you here, to this place?" asked Penelope. "Elves, fauns, and centaurs?"

"Yes," said Nassus with mild skepticism in his voice. "The half-breed said that it was Aslan's will. None of us understood how that could be… and yet, here all of you are, so perhaps the commander knew something that we didn't."

Penelope turned to Pete and said, "Falon was with you and Cynthia when you met Aslan in Archenland, correct?"

"Uh, yeah. He was."

"There you have it, then," said Penelope. "By the way, when were you planning on telling the rest of us that you had actually _met_ Aslan?"

"I would've gotten around to it!" said Pete. "But, hold on. How did all the slaves from Terebinthia wind up here?"

"Actually, they were the ones waiting for us when we arrived," said Jocasta. "The prisoners that you freed from the slavers—they set up this camp. When the slave-traders arrived on the shores and found nobody here to take charge of their 'cargoes,' they did not know what to do. In the confusion, the slaves rioted and freed themselves, and they set fire to the Terebinthian ships. Then they traveled up the Glasswater, where they claim to have met Aslan. The Great Lion told them to wait here for us, and for you."

"The Great Lion," said Pete. "That's Aslan?"

"Of course he's a lion," said Penelope. "I thought you met him!"

"I _did_ meet him!" said Pete. "He just… didn't look like a lion at the time. I figured that all this 'by the lion's mane' talk I've been hearing since I got here must've been, like, symbols and metaphors and stuff."

"He is indeed a great lion," said Naussus. "Bigger than any you've ever seen before. And wild he is—and fierce!"

"Fierce, but very good," added Eikron.

"The greatest good," said Jocasta, "and the true king of Narnia. Even if you sit on the throne, Lord Peter, you are but Aslan's representative to the rest of us."

"Sure, okay," said Pete. "Where is he?"

"We don't know," said Jocasta. "He had already left when we arrived. But the escaped slaves all said that he had gone west, deeper into Narnia, 'onward and inward' to gather more allies."

"That's good," said Penelope quietly. "Beruna lies west of here. He will find loyal centaurs, and many others."

"So, who's in charge now?" asked Pete.

"Commander Falon _was_ in charge," said Naussus. "Now, _you_ are."

* * *

Pete and his closest friends met Falon in the camp's largest tent. The odd looking creature, who one could reasonably describe as either an attractive hobgoblin or an ugly elf, seemed to have found his place. He was very comfortable wearing the armor of a battle-commander, and he didn't repeat himself so much anymore, though he would whisper things as he thought to himself aloud. "Peter," he said in his low voice. "Good. You're here. Now the _war_ can start."

Pete cast a worried look sideways at his friends, and then he said, "I take it you heard about Tara?"

"About my sister. Yes." Falon's voice fell to a whisper. "Serpens has taken much from both of us. And he must be made to pay! Yes, to pay."

Pete clapped his hands together and said, "I couldn't agree with you more. So here's how this will go down: Penny, I still trust you more than anybody here with military decisions. So from now on, you're General Penelope of the Rebel Alliance."

"My Lord Peter! I… don't know what to say!"

"Say thanks," said Pete. "As for the rest of you guys… Falon, Phineas, Brenawen, you guys are colonels now. You're all warriors, so you know what you're doing. You only answer to me and Penny: her on military matters, and me on everything else. Got it?"

Phineas nodded. "Thank you, my lord."

Falon looked Pete in the eye, shook the human's hand, and solemnly declared, "I accept this office in the name of the vengeance we are both owed."

Brenawen asked, "What about Lumpkin? And Cynthia?"

"Seeing as how they're more or less civilians, like me, I have other jobs for them," said Pete. "Especially you, Lumpkin. I'm going to need you to gather together all the dwarves in the camp. We need to forge some more weapons."

"More cannon, my lord?" asked Lumpkin. "That could prove difficult, without the mines and metalworks we had at hand in Pyrstead."

"No, not cannon," said Pete. "We're trying to take Cair Paravel from Serpens, not batter the walls down to rubble. We need something different for a siege like this."

"Serpens isn't stupid," said Penelope. "If Jadis has ordered him to guard the Cair and keep Peter away from the throne, he'll remain within the castle, where he is fortified and defended. He won't strike out at this camp, so we do have some time to prepare."

* * *

The days passed quickly in the camp on the Glasswater, for Pete and the others were all kept very busy getting the Narnians ready to go to war. Cynthia had been placed in charge of scouting, and all of the talking animals, nymphs, and sprites answered to her. Phineas, meanwhile, resumed command of the faun Runners, but now they addressed him as a colonel rather than a marchwarden. Brenawen found herself without any soldiers under her direct command, and so she became Penelope's aide-de-camp and executive officer. And Lumpkin, despite the other Red Dwarves shaking their head at him for having a Black Dwarf for a wife, quickly organized his own people into a corps of blacksmiths.

Pete wanted them to make small arms, pistols and muskets, as many as could be made. The guns' barrels and stocks were easily fashioned, and Pete even showed the dwarves how to bore rifled grooves inside the barrels to make the weapons shoot straighter. But all of the little parts to the snaplock mechanism—the triggers, the hammers, the flints and frizzens, the flashpans—these were delicate and difficult to make, and so production was slow overall. Nevertheless, the dwarves became fair gunsmiths in a relatively short span of time. They also knew where to find the minerals needed to make black powder and the lead that Pete wanted for bullets. Supplies of all these things were built up over a few weeks, and Pete taught all of the soldiers there how to shoot the muskets. The dwarves and fauns were equipped with these guns as soon as there were enough to go around, and the centaurs were all given cavalry pistols. Eventually, the rebels in the camp were practicing daily drills involving shouldering and readying the weapons, aiming and firing on command, and reloading and cleaning them.

Then, one day, Cynthia came running into the camp with a fox and couple of hares at her heels. "Lord Peter! General Penelope! There are ships on the horizon!"

"What kind of ships?" asked Pete.

"Islander ships," said Cynthia. "It's the Royal Navy of the Sea Kingdom!"

* * *

Pete and his top officers (including Lumpkin and Cynthia) ran to get Captain Diarmuid, who gathered all of his sailors and had the _Dawn Treader_ made ready to sail in record time. Once the pirate-ship got out into the current of the Glasswater and sped on its way, Pete met everybody on the deck of ship. "What do you guys think they want?" he asked of the captain and his wife.

"I couldn't say," said Diarmuid, "but they've not had time enough to sail all the way to Narrowhaven and back. Redhaven, perhaps, but no farther."

"Still, they might've met a courier ship with orders from my mother," said Princess Cliodhna. "Admiral Pwyll did send a dispatch home before we left Redhaven, telling her of my divorce and remarriage."

"Okay, so we can assume that mom's pissed," said Pete. "The question is, why would she send the whole freaking _navy_ after us?"

"I don't know," said Cliodhna. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough."


	38. Chapter 38

GRAND Admiral Pwyll boarded the _Dawn Treader_ with a dozen trident-armed merrow soldiers. "Princess Cliodhna," he said, "I have been ordered by Her Majesty, Queen Morrigan, to arrest Your Highness, and Prince Peter, and the pirate Diarmuid. Your Highnesses are to be returned to Narrhowaven, in irons if you refuse to come quietly; and Diarmuid is to be executed by hanging, on Her Majesty's orders."

"She cannot do this!" said Cliodhna. She pointed a finger in the admiral's face and said, "You will not do this!"

"Truth be told, I don't like the thought of turning on past comrades-in-arms," said Pwyll. "It's bad form. Dishonorable, even. But I swore an oath of loyalty to my queen, and I must obey Her Majesty's commands."

"Diarmuid and I are lawfully wed," said Cliodhna. " _He_ is the rightful Prince of the Islands now, not Peter! You cannot hang a prince!"

"There is some dispute as to the legality of that claim, Princess," said the admiral. "I looked the other way before the battle was upon us, but I have that liberty no longer! My orders come from your mother. She insists that you are still married to Peter, and that Diarmuid, who is _not_ of royal blood and cannot rightfully marry you, must be executed for piracy, adultery, and treason."

From all over the deck of the ship, a series of _clicks_ signaled the cocking of hammers. The moment that the admiral had uttered the word "treason," every sailor aboard the _Treader_ had drawn a shiny, new flintlock pistol and pointed it at him. Pete, too, held a gun, and so did most of the Narnians. "That doesn't really work for me," said Pete. "Especially seeing as how you guys brought tridents to a gunfight."

The salty old merman looked around at all of the gun-barrels pointed at his head, smiled, and gave the order for his soldiers to stand down. "More cannons," he said, "but this time in miniature. That human cleverness of yours never fails to astound me. All right," he said, throwing up his hands. "You win. I'm your prisoner, and quite at your disposal."

Pete grinned, uncocked the hammer of his own flintlock, and put the gun up. "Okay, first off, they're 'pistols,' not cannons; and second, this is either way too easy, or you're looking for an excuse to switch to our side."

"An excuse? Never, milord Peter. Wouldn't be honorable. But since you're holding me at the point of a weapon, of course I must do whatever you ask of me. Until, that is, Her Majesty Queen Morrigan sees fit to ransom the commander of her Royal Navy by giving in to your demands."

"Why, you crafty old devil," said Pete, holstering his gun and shaking the admiral's hand.

Princess Cliodhna dashed forward and embraced Pwyll around the neck. "Thank you, Admiral," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "I won't forget this."

The admiral _harrumphed_ at the princess's sudden effusion and said, "Quite all right, of course. As I said, I wasn't comfortable going against you lot in the first place." He ordered his own men to return to the flagship, which they did; and while they left, the admiral explained, "Once we had our orders, of course we turned back immediately and sailed for Galma. This time, that cursed ice-storm was gone, and so we were able to go all the way to the island. But when we got there, nothing was left. Galma was destroyed. Burnt to a crisp, I should think. Can't imagine how that happened."

"That were Lord Peter, in point of fact," said Diarmuid. "He used his black powder and fired the island from within."

"By Aslan!" said Pwyll. "Truly?"

"It wasn't really me," said Pete, "it was the gas under the island. Galma was already powderkeg waiting to go off; I just lit the fuse."

* * *

With boats and cannon added to their forces, Pete concocted a new plan. He had the Red Dwarves in the rebel camp craft a new sort of ammunition—canisters of bullets, each with a diameter that fit the cannon barrels—"grape shot," a means of turning the artillery into more effective anti-personnel weapons. "Carry the brass guns on your ships, Admiral," Pete had told him, "and sail north along the coast. Be ready to meet us about four leagues south of Cair Paravel, ten days from now." That was how long it would take to pack up everything they needed and march north to the Cair.

General Penelope made the order official: it was time to march north and proceed with the attack. The fauns had their packs of gear and their brand-spanking-new muskets. The dwarves took the tools that they would need to continue their smith-craft. The elves from Archenland, following the lately commissioned Colonel Falon, were peerless ground infantry armed with pikes and swords. And the centaur cavalry marched with lances and horse-pistols. Open wagons carted all the many supplies needed support this army (which was yet modest in size, as armies went). They carried everything from armaments and rations to linens and clothing.

The talking animals perhaps fared the best on the march, for they needed none of these material things. Weapons and clothes were of course useless to them, and their food was provided by nature. As they marched, Pete made an effort to converse with everybody he could, including the animals, and the more he got to know them, the more he realized that he liked their company. It was strange company, but it grew on him.

"I've always wondered," said a tiny squirrel that had to run quickly to keep up with Pete, "what humans are like? How do you live? Do you eat nuts… or," she let out a tiny _gulp_ , "small animals?"

"Uh… I can honestly say that nobody's ever asked me that question before," said Pete, who had been asked to answer many of the animals' oddest queries since his return to Narnia. "I'm not sure how to answer it."

"She doesn't mean herself personally," said a coyote that kept a more leisurely pace. "After all, even predators must eat in Narnia. We just eat the animals that aren't smart enough to plead for their lives."

"But sometimes, you eat talking beasts who simply get taken by surprise, or who might have lost their voice, perhaps because they've caught a cold!" said the squirrel indignantly.

"Tragic accidents, of course," said the coyote. "No respectable Narnian predator would knowingly eat a fellow talking beast. So, Son of Adam, which are you? Herbivore or carnivore?"

"Oh, we humans pretty much eat anything that moves, grows, or comes wrapped in pretty plastic," said Pete. "But lately, I've been rethinking my stance on vegetarianism."

A brown bear trundled up behind Pete and laughed deeply. "Why contradict your nature? Omnivores are flexible. Adaptable. It shows good survival instincts. _Some_ of us can respect that!"

"You _would_ say that," sniffed the squirrel.

Pete buried his forehead in his hand. "I can't believe this. My life is turning into a Looney Toon."

* * *

Several days later, sure enough, the rebel army met Grand Admiral Pwyll's fleet on the shores south of Cair Paravel. The admiral ordered all of the cannon moved off of his ship and onto land, and the dwarves and merrows who sailed with him joined up with Pete's ground forces as artillerists. Then the whole great amalgamation of warriors set up a new base camp, and Cynthia was sent out with a troupe of fairy-folk and animals to get a first look at the castle.

Cair Paravel was large stone fortress of a castle, with high walls and many towers, and crenelated battlements all the way around. It was daytime when the scouts approached it through the woods, and they didn't know what to expect. This place was of supreme importance to Jadis, even though she didn't dwell here; so surely it would be well-defended, though they had no idea who or what would be doing the defending.

But strangely, as the nymphs and the beasts peered through the treeline, they saw no sign of movement in or around the castle, and nobody at all patrolling the walls. At once, they ran back to the camp to report what they had found to Pete and the officers.

* * *

"There's _nobody_?" said Pete. "No guards? No soldiers? Not even one goblin with a rusty butter-knife?"

"Nobody at all," said Cynthia. "It's a puzzle, but we watched the castle for some time, and there was neither sight nor sign of life."

"I don't like it," said Penelope. "It must be some kind of trap."

"Probably," said Pete, "but if they're not guarding the castle, that's even better. We don't even have to take it by force—we can just waltz in through the front door, sit my keister on the throne, break the spell, and get out of Dodge."

"That won't make you our king," said Phineas. "The High King of Narnia rules from Cair Paravel. Your task is through—"

"My task is through when we march up to Jadis's ice-palace, put a bullet in her brain, and take back Narnia's _crown_ ," said Pete. " _This_ is a pit-stop. Let's just go in there and break the witch's curse!"

"All right," said Penelope, "but we need to be prepared for a trap. We'll go in, break the spell, and leave until—"

"No!" growled Falon with sudden and undisguised anger. "No, we _must_ attack at night! We must destroy Count Serpens! We must—"

"Whoa, whoa, okay, down boy!" said Pete. "Falon is right. We can't leave until we stake us a nosferatu. But I've had a lot of time to think about this, and I think I've figured something out." Pete started pacing back and forth inside the commanders' tent as he spoke. "Okay, see if you can follow me on this. The undead in this world disappear during the day. That's something new; we don't have that rule back on Earth. Where I come from, the legend is that during the day, vampires have to rest in a coffin touching some of the soil that comes from the place where they died. If they're not in their coffin when the sun comes up, they can't rest, and it weakens them. And if the sun actually touches them, poof, they're dust. I think… I think _these_ rules might apply here too. When we first met Serpens, he had to get inside that ruined temple before the sun came up, so I think that if sunlight actually touches him before he disappears for the day, it'll kill him. And we know that he only has a few particular lairs around the country: Silenopolis, Mount Pire, Cair Paravel. He must have coffins there! Which means, there must be places where he _doesn't_ just disappear during the day—he sleeps and recovers his strength. Phineas, you're our lore and history guy. How does all this sound to you?"

The faun replied, "It's certainly possible. In stories, a vampire can only cross rivers and oceans when sleeping in a box filled with dirt. As to whether Serpens retains his physical form in such a state, though, I couldn't say."

"None of this makes any sense," said Penelope. "He either disappears during the daytime, or he doesn't! And even if he didn't, he's not so foolish as to leave himself vulnerable like that!"

"Vampires have a history of making their coffins _really_ hard to find," said Pete. "It might not even be inside Cair Paravel. It could be in a cave nearby, or just about anywhere. But I'm baking on Serpens's arrogance here. If he already thinks he's invincible, he won't bother to cover his weaknesses—and you can trust me on some of this, because he's been in my head. I know how he thinks. It just fits his profile."

"If he's in there, we'll root him out!" said Falon. "We'll find him, and we'll kill him! Or, better yet, do what he did to us! Take him prisoner and torment him endlessly!"

"That's not the brightest idea in the world, buddy, but we'll decide what to do with Serpens when we find him," said Pete. "We're doing this. We have to do this."

Penelope tried to protest. "My lord—"

"It's not a military decision, General," said Pete. "No enemies to fight, no battle. _This_ is a good old-fashioned vampire hunt."

"The last one ended with one of us dying," Penelope reminded him.

"And now it's payback time," said Pete. "Rally the troops. We're going to take an army into that castle, and we'll tear it apart from the inside until we find what we're looking for."

* * *

While Pwyll's fleet sailed into the harbor near the Cair, Pete divided his forces into two groups. The dwarves, nymphs, animals, and merrows would stay outside with the artillery and cover the rebels' position. The elves, fauns, and centaurs would go in and help search the castle, ready at a moment's notice to do battle if they encountered foes. A lit powderkeg made short work of the gates, and Pete and Penelope led their soldiers through the outer bailey and into the castle yard. The yard was a decrepit ruin; broken statuary and unkempt weeds were strewn everywhere. Beyond this was the keep, and here the soldiers continued on their way.

The inner gates were closed, but they weren't barred or locked in any way. Penelope and several centaurs pushed them open, revealing a dusty, shadowy hall of grand size, lined with two rows of huge columns. Though only a small amount of light crept in through the front gates, skylights and windows cast other beams around the hall. On the far side, a massive, cracked throne of solid gray stone rested on a raised section of floor.

"That's it?" said the Pete. "That's the High King's Throne?"

"It is," said Phineas. "We've come to it at last."

"That's got to be the least comfortable chair I've ever seen," said Pete. "It could use some cushions, maybe a throw-pillow or two…" He entered the hall and strode down its length, friends and loyal soldiers following behind. Their footsteps made a clattering echo in the quiet expanse of the chamber. "Careful," said Pete. "With our luck, the floor here is probably one big trapdoor."

Pete's dire prediction proved unfounded, though, for in all too short a time, they found themselves standing before the throne. Still there were no signs of enemies or traps.

"Are we sure this is the real throne?" said Pete. "They didn't move it and swap it for a dummy?"

"It's not the chair itself that is important," said Phineas. "It's what this place signifies. The throne in Cair Paravel is the seat of Narnian power. When a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve sits here, all is right in Narnia."

"All right," said Pete. "Here goes nothing." He stepped forward, turned around, and faced everybody in the room. There were the faun and centaur and elf soldiers, waiting expectantly for the human to take action. The fauns and centaurs wanted their freedom, and the elves wanted their vengeance. Falon was their respected commander, and he was dangerously obsessed with revenge, Pete knew that; but it was borne out of love for a sister that he had known all too briefly. There were Captain Diarmuid and Princess Cliodhna—one, his roguish but kindhearted friend and ally; and the other, his former wife, a woman he might have loved in time. Phineas and Cynthia were there—Phineas, the wise faun who had challenged Pete until they came at last to understand and respect each other; and Cynthia, the upbeat dryad who had sought love and found it in Phineas. Lumpkin and Brenawen had found their love as well, and between the spitfire Black Dwarf and the cagey, silver-tongued Red Dwarf who had been Pete's first ally in this world, he knew that he had two true friends here. And then there was Penelope: she was special. She was Pete's best friend, for reasons he wasn't sure that he could fully articulate. But she was strong, and brave, and witty, and indomitable, and Pete was naturally drawn to that in the centaur-woman. He was sure that he had chosen his general well. These were the people who loved him in this world, and Pete was about to take the first step towards freeing them from Queen Jadis and becoming their rightful king. He sat back on the throne.

Nothing happened. Pete looked around nervously, scanning all the shadows. He half expected Count Serpens to jump out and bite him in the neck again. But there was nothing: no magic, no undead, no nightmares. "Well," said Pete, "that was certainly anticlimactic."

"What were you expecting?" asked Cynthia.

"I don't know; sparkly lights, puff of smoke, maybe the booming voice of a narrator telling us that the spell is broken and now we can live happily ever after."

Cynthia smiled. "The spell _is_ broken. I can feel it. And look at my hair!" The dryad grabbed a clump of her curly tresses in one hand and displayed the streaks of yellow that were now running through the green. "Winter has given spring the slip and passed straight onto summer!" she laughed.

Pete grinned and jovially quoted, "And then King Arthur's knights were forced to eat Sir Robin's minstrels, and there was much rejoicing."

"Lord Peter, your peculiarity is truly boundless," said Penelope.

Pete replied, "Admit it: you think it's cute."

In that moment, a faint noise echoed in the distance: the long, low, dull _blat_ of a goblin horn. Another answered it, and then another, and another. A doe came running into the hall of Cair Paravel, and she skidded to a halt on her hooves. "My Lord Peter, General Penelope! Soldiers of Jadis come upon us from the north!"

"It _was_ a trap," said Penelope. "They mean to pin us down in here until nightfall, when the undead can rise!"

"Then we have to hurry," said Pete. "Get all of our people and guns inside the castle, and everybody who's a solider, man the walls. You're in charge of the defenses, General. Civvies, you're with me: Diarmuid, Clio, Lumpkin, Cynthia. Get the animals to help us; we've got to search this castle top to bottom. If Count Serpens has a coffin, we're going to find it and get rid of him—because no Serpens means no undead popping out of thin air at sundown."

"Your will, milord," said Penelope, saluting Pete.

"Good luck, General," said Pete, returning the salute. "And… uh… may the Force be with us."


	39. Chapter 39

GENERAL Penelope ordered the soldiers onto the battlements, and squadrons of fauns and dwarves lined the walls, peering through the crenels with their muskets at the ready. Dwarves and centaurs helped merrow-folk hoist the cannons and ordnance up to the tops of the towers, where the heavy guns could be angled to rain leaden death down upon the enemy at great range. Down below, in the yard, the elves waited with swords unsheathed, poised to defend if the gates should be breached. And behind these, more centaurs stood alongside nymphs with bows and full quivers. Cair Paravel was indeed well-defended, though the rebels hadn't expected that they would be the ones inside the walls… but that could prove to be a curse as well as a blessing, depending on whether Pete failed or succeeded in his search.

* * *

Within the keep, beasts and animals of all sizes and varieties searched here and there for something, anything, that looked like a box large enough to hold a man's dead body. A group of mice ran up to Pete, and one of them squeaked, "No way to get into the walls, milord; they're solid stone! But one of the foxes found the door to the basement."

"The basement? Show me!" Pete took after the mice, and when the others saw this, they followed: Lumpkin and Cynthia, Diarmuid and Cliodhna, and all the animals.

A nondescript wooden door with a plain metal ring for a handle stood in an out-of-the-way corridor between the dining hall and the long-unused kitchen. Pete pulled the door open, and dust and cobwebs greeted him. "I need a light," said Pete.

Lumpkin produced a torch, and Pete struck a spark to set it ablaze. He took the light, told all of the animals to wait here, and he led his friends down the winding stone staircase. The stair went down, down, down into the bowels of the Cair—the high seaside hill upon which the palace had been built. They descended to a depth perhaps three or four times the height of the palace's walls, before they finally came to another door at the bottom of the stairwell. "Weird," said Pete. "I feel like I've seen this place before."

"That's just not possible," said Lumpkin. "I've been at your side since you arrived in Narnia, and you've never been anywhere near here!"

"No," said Pete, "not like that. It's more like… something from a dream. I don't know why, but this is familiar to me. I'm getting a serious _déjà vu_ vibe from everything."

"You were afflicted by Serpens's curse," said Cliodhna. "Before you were cured, you were mere days away from dying and becoming a vampire in his thrall! It's little wonder that something familiar to Serpens should seem familiar to you."

"Yeah, that's gotta be it," said Pete.

Cynthia shuddered. "I don't like it down here. It reminds me of the dungeons under Mount Pire. Let's just search it quickly and get this over with!"

"I agree with the lass," said Diarmuid. "The swifter, the better."

Pete opened this door and shined the light into the room beyond. He then beheld the sight of a broad chamber with a low ceiling, lined on all the walls by crude mud-bricks. Hewn into the walls were many niches, burial alcoves, each one just the right size to entomb a pile of human bones. "It's a crypt," said Pete. "It looks just like the medieval tombs from underneath Rome that you always see in _National Geographic_ specials."

"A crypt?" said Lumpkin. The dwarf's knees knocked together. "Ah… uh… you don't suppose it's haunted, do you?"

"Of course it's haunted!" said Cynthia. "Where do you think we are? But nothing here can hurt us for several hours yet, so do let's search quickly."

"This is actually kind of fun," said Pete, shining the torch around. The light revealed a pile of broken wood planks, strips of rotted cloth, and bits of rusty metal—but no bones or other remains.

"You have an odd notion of fun," said Cliodhna.

"Aw, come on. This is so 'Indiana Jones!' In fact, it's just like in the third movie, when—" Pete froze in his tracks when he passed into the next chamber. Beyond the burial niches, the brick-walled passage gave way to a natural tunnel in the rock, and this tunnel opened into a tall underground chasm with a narrow rock-bridge that spanned the breadth of it. Pete shined his torch into the chamber. The cylindrical opening was more or less round, and more than fifty feet in diameter; whereas the rock-bridge was two feet wide, if that. Looking up, there was no sign of a ceiling. Looking down… the bottom of the pit was only twenty or thirty feet down, but it was filled completely with _heaps and heaps of bones._ There were limbs, ribs, skulls, and uncounted phalanges… but not the variety of species that one might expect to see in a mass-burial-pit in Narnia. No; all of these bones were human—Pete didn't have to be a forensic scientist to see that.

Lumpkin swallowed. "So… this is where Count Serpens's army comes from."

"They're all human," said Pete. "Or, they were."

"Ancients," breathed Cynthia in awe. "From the Elder Days before the Witches."

"'Tis no concern of ours," said Diarmuid, "unless the bloodsucker be down there with them."

"No," said Pete. "I'm pretty sure that it'll be somewhere with loose dirt."

"Let us be on our way, then," said Cliodhna. And so the five of them crossed single-file over the narrow bridge and passed into the next chamber.

* * *

The enemy soldiers arrayed themselves on the fields beneath Cair Paravel. There were many: goblins and hobgoblins, dwarves and centaurs, minotaurs and harpies; and most of them wore armor of black iron. Penelope, Falon, and Brenawen stood atop a parapet and gazed out at this force arrayed against them. They were outnumbered by the foe perhaps five-to-one, but in Penelope's estimation, it would take a ten-to-one ratio at the least to successfully win Cair Paravel in a siege. On their own, these foemen could be hurled back time and again, outlasted, and defeated by attrition. No, the centauress reasoned, they would not attack quite yet. They would wait for nightfall.

"Blast it with furnaces!" swore Brenawen. "They're staying beyond the range of our guns!"

"But they've only brought soldiers," said Falon. "There are no catapults or siege-towers. How can they expect to take a castle without any war-engines?"

Penelope answered, "They expect the dead to rise at sundown and attack us from within, while they wait without to prevent our escape. The trap is sprung, and the jaws are closing shut. If Peter fails to find what he is looking for, Jadis will see us all destroyed before the next dawn."

"What do we do, then?" asked Brenawen. "There's no escape from the castle now. Admiral Pwyll is of no use to us; he stayed with his fleet, and his ships only have skeleton crews left. Our only hope is to wait for the attack, and repel it if we can."

"We must organize our defenses on two fronts," said Falon. "Outside and inside, inside and outside… guard the walls from outside the castle, and from the keep inside the castle…"

"Don't you start with your mutterings now!" said Penelope. "We have to keep our heads. For the moment, there's only one army that we have to deal with: the one outside the walls. Let's worry about them for the time being."

"Of course," said Falon. "Of course, I lost my head. Forgive me. I—what is that?" The half-elf hybrid squinted his eyes and looked down onto the field. A tall figure had come forth from among the troops: many times taller than a human being, and shaped like a woman. It was a giantess. She emerged from the mass of enemies flanked by two squadrons of hobgoblins and a row of black-armored centaur knights with their faces hidden behind visors. One of the centaurs carried the standard of Jadis, the snowflake on ice-blue; another carried a white flag.

"They mean to parley," said Brenawen. "What utter cheek!" The dwarf-woman turned to a couple of mermen who stood nearby on the parapet and said, "Load that cannon with a ball and sight in the giantess's head. If she so much as sneezes, you have my permission to fire!"

One of the gunners asked of Penelope, "General?"

"Colonel Brenawen's orders stand," said Penelope. "Any suspicious action, and I want that giantess taken down. There's something familiar about her that I just don't like."

* * *

Pete and his friends passed through another tunnel, and then into a subterranean room which was carved from the stone and lavishly decorated. Nothing here looked rotten or crumbling: there were red carpets on the stone floors, red tapestries hanging from the walls, and an armor stand… holding a suit of black-iron plate. There was a table with several golden goblets, blood-red rubies set into the sides of them. There was a rack for weapons, of the sort that a knight might wield when riding into battle—swords, lances, hammers, picks, maces, flails—all cast from iron. And in the middle of it all was a box, like a casket, made from some wood so dark that it seemed almost black under the light of Pete's torch.

"No way," said Pete. "I was _right_. He's here!"

"Let us be certain," said Lumpkin. The dwarf looked from the casket to Peter and then said, "Y—you'd best lift the lid."

"Whatever you say, Captain Courage." Pete handed his torch off to Cynthia and approached the coffin. He found the lid and pried it open with a drawn-out _squeak_. Inside rested the body of a man, pale white, but with lips and cheeks flushed red from fresh blood. His eyes were closed and he was as still as a corpse, but there was a twisted smile on his face, as if he had died during a sadistically happy dream. "It's Serpens." There was a layer of earth in the bottom of the coffin, just as there had been in Pete's dream, when the bards had cured him. Serpens rested upon this bed of dirt.

"Then let us stake the fiend and be rid of him!" said Lumpkin.

"Or burn him up!" said Cynthia, waving the torch.

Pete looked down at the helpless form of Count Serpens, his hated enemy, the creature that had tortured him and taken away his love. He should have felt hatred in his heart. He should have demanded justice, vengeance, retribution. But instead, he felt pity. "God help me, I can't believe I almost turned into that," said Pete. "If it hadn't been for those Bards of yours, Clio, I don't know what…" Pete's voice trailed off, and a thoughtful look passed across his face. "Say… the Bards… they're here in the castle with us, right? They didn't go with Admiral Pwyll's fleet?"

"Aye, they're here with us," said Diarmuid. "What do ye need them for?"

Pete waved his hands and snapped his fingers, but he was almost too excited to speak. When he found he voice, he said, "Clio! Clio, the Bards cured me! Do you think they could cure him?" He pointed worriedly at Serpens's body.

"I… don't know," said Cliodhna. "But _you_ were still alive when the Bards lifted the curse. Serpens is _dead_."

"Undead," said Pete. "There might… I don't know… but if it had happened to me, I would want someone to try at least…"

"What are you going on about?" asked Lumpkin. "We have but a couple of hours now before sunset! Destroy the vampire!"

"No!" said Pete. "Go get Oghma and the others! We have to try and save him!"

* * *

Penelope left Brenawen and Falon in charge on the walls, and she ran out onto the field with several centaurs from her old company. The centauress Jocasta flew Aslan's banner, while the centaur Naussus carried the white flag. Penelope's silvery armor, polished to a shine, glinted brilliantly in the afternoon sun. She looked the very part of a majestic lady knight. "Who would speak with me?" she demanded.

The giantess looked down and smiled, showing sparse and yellowed teeth. "I am General Gurzla, commander of the eastern forces of Her Majesty, Queen Jadis's Army of Defense. Who are you, _rebel_? And where is the Son of Adam—where is the so-called 'Lord' Peter Pevensie?"

"Lord Peter is otherwise indisposed," said the centauress. "I am General Penelope. If you are here to parley, you will treat with me."

"Penelope," said Gurzla. "I have heard of you. You deserted a fortress of Her Majesty's army… you have unlawfully aided and abetted a fugitive Son of Adam… and you partook in the brutal murder of the giant Grubash, my own beloved child!" The giantess's wrinkled face contorted in anger, and she shook her head, causing greasy locks of gray-black hair to whip her own cheeks.

So, Penelope thought, this explained why General Gurzla looked familiar: a family resemblance to the hated and cruel Captain Grubash. "It was indeed a centaur who struck down Grubash," said Penelope. "His name was Cyrus. But he is dead now. Many months ago, your son's slayer was himself slain by Count Serpens's ghouls. And we mourn him as a hero!"

The giantess scowled at Penelope. "You are all criminals, and by the law of this land, you should die. But Queen Jadis is not without mercy. She will generously give you this one chance: surrender now, give yourselves up, and your soldiers will live. Only you, and the Son of Adam, and the other conspirators will be put to death. But if you should _fight_ …" Gurzla grinned toothily and chuckled. "…you will be trapped in the Cair between my army and a doom worse than death."

Penelope gazed stonily at the smirking face of the giantess. "If we do surrender, what happens to my soldiers? Are they free to leave, to go where they please?"

"Of course not," said Gurzla. "Jadis will not tolerate malcontents in her country. They will be sent elsewhere."

"Sold into slavery, you mean," said Penelope. "You don't present a very enticing bargain."

"And you are in no position to negotiate," said Gurzla.

"Perhaps not," said Penelope, "but _your_ position is little better—a mere hundred yards from the mouth of a brass gun." The giantess watched, confused, as Penelope turned about and removed her helmet—her polished, shining helmet—and angled it so that a flash of sunlight reflected to the forward parapet on the castle. The booming report and the orange muzzle-flash that came from above the walls were proof that Brenawen had received the signal. Something whizzed through he air over the centaurs' heads, too fast to see. Then Penelope once again turned and faced the giantess; but Gurzla couldn't react. She had a hole between her eyes, exactly the diameter of a cannonball. A line of blood trickled down the giantess's nose. And then she fell… like a tree… backward, onto several of her hobgoblin escorts.

The enemy soldiers, hobgoblin and centaur, were thrown into a confused chaos. They didn't know whether to attack, or to seek further orders elsewhere. Penelope commanded her own knights to turn back and run for the gates of Cair Paravel. She remained behind, just long enough to shout to the enemy centaurs, "Tell whoever commands your army now, negotiations are through! Lord Peter will never surrender to False Queen Jadis!"

* * *

"This is… unheard of," said Oghma. "I don't know if we can do it."

The Seven Bards of Narrowhaven met up with Pete and his friends down in the depths of Serpens's coffin-chamber, in the crypt underneath Cair Paravel. Pete didn't dare disturb either Serpens's body or his coffin, for fear that the vampire would simply melt into a mist or a shadow and vanish. So the Bards had had to come all the way down here from the castle yard, into this dreary and dismal chamber of death. Little more than an hour remained until sundown.

The young mermaid Melusine slithered up to the corpse in the coffin and poked it. "He's not exactly stone-cold dead," she said. "There's an evil spirit inside the body, keeping it hale and uncorrupted. If we exorcise the body and expel the demon within, there's no telling what the result will be. But in all likelihood, the spell will simply destroy him."

"Then we've got nothing to lose," said Pete. "But I have to be able to say that I at least tried to save him."

"Why?" asked Cliodhna. "He tormented you, he stole your love, and he nearly destroyed you!"

"And I almost met the same fate as him," said Pete. "I have to make sure that it can't be reversed or cured. I have to know."

"Very well," said Oghma. "We will begin the Song of Requiem."

* * *

Whoever Gurzla had chosen for seconds-in-command, they must have been more reactionary than tactical in their way of thinking, because they blundered. Upon witnessing their general struck down from afar by some unknown weapon, they ordered an immediate attack on the gates of Cair Paravel, with no ladders, no siege towers, no trebuchets or catapults, nothing that could help them breach or surmount the castle's high walls. The order was given, the horns sounded, and the foe marched towards the castle. Goblins and hobgoblins hurled themselves at the gates with batters and rams, while dwarves and centaurs and minotaurs waited behind for their own chance to rush in and do battle. The harpies fared rather better: they simply took to the air and tried raining arrows down upon the soldiers warding the walls.

General Penelope galloped along the battlements, shouting orders. Fauns and dwarves armed with muskets picked their shots carefully, shooing harpies out of the air or drawing beads on the goblins trying to batter through the outer gates. Some of the harpies' arrows found their marks, and several of the rebels on the walls fell dead. But then, the dwarves and the merrows angled the artillery upward and loaded the barrels with the canisters of grape-shot. Brenawen gave the order, and the cannon spewed forth scattered cones of bullets into the sky like oversized shotguns. Harpies fell dead in flocks, and many of the survivors screeched in fear and fled.

On the ground, though the goblin corpses piled up, still they came, bashing the gates with heavy logs, causing cracks to form in the wood. Hobgoblins held up broad shields to guard themselves, and though musket-balls crashed into these and knocked hobgoblins down, the iron was thick enough to save their lives. The goblins, meanwhile, withstood the onslaught of massed gunfire, and eventually they punched through the wooden gates… only to find an iron portcullis on the other side, with nymphs and centauresses aiming bows through the gaps in the iron bars. An order was given, and they all loosed their shafts at once. The volley punctured every goblin pressed against the portcullis, and most of these died, adding to the pile of bodies around the outer bailey. Then the rebel archers ducked into the walls of the Cair to avoid any return fire.

A unit of minotaurs surged to the fore, sweeping Black Dwarves and goblins aside. They howled like monstrous bulls and ran on surprisingly spry hooves, dodging arrows and bullets. They made the portcullis, and several of them gripped the bars and _lifted_ , heaved with all their might… Above, cannon thundered, sending balls and bullets raining down on the mêlée. Still, the minotaurs lifted the iron barrier, and then goblins with battering rams surged into the walls and attacked the second set of wooden doors, the inner gates.

Meanwhile, the passages within the walls that the archers had used to escape were now filled with fauns and Red Dwarves—musketeers, loaded and ready to fire. They shot, and goblins fell dead. Then, with bayonets affixed to the muzzles of the muskets, they charged the surprised minotaurs…

And outside, a retreat was sounded. Jadis's army turned away from the castle walls and withdrew. The rebels had hurled back the first charge and defended Cair Paravel. Now the battle was begun, and the siege was underway. And the sun crept down toward the horizon.


	40. Chapter 40

THE Bards of Narrowhaven sang. Their spell-song called out to the Deep Magic, begging the Emperor-across-the-Sea to help a wandering soul find rest at last. The mournful dirge sounded like groaning wind, interspersed with melodious movements that anticipated peace and happiness in the hereafter. The whole effect was beautiful, and magical, and potent. Count Serpens opened his blood-red eyes, and he shrieked in horror and pain. Pete looked on in satisfaction. Even if this magical music only destroyed the vampire, he would be happy to see Serpens gone from this world and out of his life. Lumpkin was agitated and watched Pete more closely than the vampire; but Cynthia, Cliodhna, and Diarmuid observed the ritual in rapt fascination.

The Bards sang, and Serpens's body lifted out of the coffin. He literally levitated up, writhing and struggling all the while, suspended in midair. He retched and spat and spun around, and finally cried out, _"You think you can drive me out of this body? I have inhabited this human for seven-hundred years! Nothing but true and final death can separate us!"_

Then Oghma came forward, while the other six bards sang to a crescendo. The Chief Bard diverged from the melody and chanted a separate spell in time with the music, a solemn command for the demon to be gone from this place in Aslan's name. Twice, Serpens resisted the command, and so twice more, Oghma repeated the incantation. On the third attempt, the vampire's body contorted and doubled over, and somehow, it separated in two. The vampire's human form was flung clear away from the center of the Bards' circle, where it crashed into the coffin like a lifeless ragdoll and knocked it over. In its place, still hovering in the air, was a mass of disgusting, pulsating, green and black smoke. A foul smell filled the room, something like burning flesh and blood. "Be gone, demon!" cried Oghma once more. "In the name of the Emperor, Aslan his son, and the Deep Magic, _be gone_!"

And then something happened that nobody expected. The cloud of vapor took shape—it formed into a great, green serpent, hooded like a cobra—something many times larger than the incipient seed of a demon that the Bards had driven out of Pete. _This_ creature, whatever it was, was a devil—an infernal power. Driving it out of this realm had a price, as Oghma was soon to learn. The incorporeal mass, the evil spirit that looked like a serpent, darted forward and sank its fangs into the Chief Bard. The demon was not a physical creature, and so the teeth left no marks or wounds, but Oghma was nevertheless whelmed by the touch of a hellish spirit. The elderly Bard gasped, clutched his chest, and stopped chanting. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell backward onto the ground. At once, the other Bards knew that he was dead, and their song faltered. The demon seemed to grow in size and strength…

And then Princess Cliodhna added her voice to the Bards', and she brought their number up to seven again. The melody surged, and the demon twisted and howled, and it shrank and it shrank, until, at last, it withered away. The glowing green vapor disappeared, and then the only light in the chamber came from the torches. And Melusine, Cliodhna, and the other bards cried out in dismay, for Oghma had given his life to banish the fiend from this world.

Pete felt sick. He could have prevented this. He could have destroyed Serpens when he had had the chance. He could have staked him, or burned him, or cut his head off, but instead, he had to go meddling in powers that he didn't understand, and it had cost a good man—another friend—his life! And now the Bards were without their chief. Pete's face fell into his hands, and he felt the tears come. If Cliodhna and the other mer-people never forgave him for this, he would understand; because he didn't think that he would ever forgive himself.

And then something else happened, even more unexpected: the body which had been thrown away from the circle and onto the coffin stirred. He groaned… and then he stood up. Count Serpens was alive!

"It cannot be!" said Lumpkin. "The devil yet lives!"

But Serpens only sat up and looked at Lumpkin strangely. He tilted his head to one side, and then he smiled, sobbed, and burst into tears. Through his crying, Serpens managed to blubber out, "Be thu at pais, gode Monsieur Dwergh! The diabol that thu clepest 'Serpens' is na more." He then wiped the tears away with one hand, fell to his knees, and cried out, "Thankes be to God the Fader and mi Lord Jesu Christ! Thankes be to the Haly Gost! Hit is over… and I am deliverid forth fram Hell!"

"Why is he talking so funny?" asked Cynthia.

"I read Chaucer in high school," said Pete. "I think it's Middle English."

Diarmuid drew his sword and said, "I care not what he speaks. He lives yet, and ought to die!"

But Pete put himself between Diarmuid and Serpens and held the merman off. Then he turned to Serpens and asked, "Who are you? Can you understand me?"

Serpens dusted himself off and stood up. Even in the torchlight, Pete could see that the pale, ghoulish face of the vampire was gone. Here stood a man, a living man, in the prime of his health—a little older than Pete, perhaps in his late thirties. "Forgive me," he said. "I was possessed by that devil for seven hundred years. I understand the newer speech, but I quite forgot myself, so glad I was at being freed after all these centuries. While Count Serpens yet lived, I was forced to watch from within, trapped in my own mind. I had to watch while a demon with my face killed and maimed so many. It was a very perfect hell, and a fit punishment for my failure." The man held out his hand to Pete and said, "I am Sir Baelin. In a past life, I was a knight in the Norman court of England. I accompanied the French King Louis the Ninth on his second crusade, in the year of Our Lord twelve-hundred and seventy, but I was lost at sea… and I found myself in this strange land of Narnia. I have been here ever since."

"Baelin," said Pete, taking the knight's hand. "Baelin… I've heard that name before…" Then Pete snapped his fingers. "Jada! The Green Witch! She said… that you were…"

"Her father," said Baelin. The knight hung his head. "Yes. To my everlasting shame, I was seduced by foul Jadis and made to sire one of her hellish brood. That was before…"

"Before Jadis turned you into a vampire," said Pete.

"Yes," said Baelin. The knight looked to one side and saw the Bards of Narrowhaven carefully lifting up Oghma's body. Melusine and Cliodhna wept openly. "Serpens's final victim," pronounced the knight. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"You didn't do this," said Pete. "The vampire did, and he's gone for good. Sir Baelin, listen to me: we're underneath Cair Paravel, and we're surrounded by Jadis's soldiers. We need help. Will you join us, help us to fight Jadis, and finish what you started seven centuries ago?"

Sir Baelin approached Peter and put both hands on the younger man's shoulders. "Sir Peter, I have wronged you. I have tortured you, and I have killed the woman you loved."

Pete shook his head. "Serpens did that—"

Baelin said, "And Serpens came into this world because of my weakness. Because I let myself be led astray by Jadis. It is all my fault… but I will atone. No longer will the sins of the White Witch go unpunished. I _will_ right all the wrongs that have transpired because of my failure, Sir Peter! And I will do it with the very power that the Witch has bestowed upon her Black Knight!"

* * *

From the battlements around Cair Paravel, the soldiers watched the daylight slip away. Sunset came, and darkness fell, and then it was nighttime. Penelope, Falon, Phineas, and Brenawen all watched from the parapets as the soldiers of Jadis marched forward once again. This time, they were arrayed in a tight formation: organized columns, armed with pikes, spears, and other weapons designed to prevent a charge from breaking through their lines—to prevent escape. They concentrated their forces around the gates of the palace, putting rank after black-armored rank in between the rebels and freedom.

Penelope closed her eyes and swallowed her fear. The only word that they had heard from Peter was that he wanted the Bards to join him underneath the castle. She didn't know whether he had found Serpens's coffin, or whether such a thing even existed, or whether destroying it would mean anything at all once the dead could rise from their graves.

The last rays of the sun disappeared over the horizon, and out on the fields, the goblins and the dwarves and the minotaurs beat their weapons and their shields together in a rhythm. _Bam… bam… bam…_ the tempo started slowly at first, and then increased, rising to such a rapid cacophony that even stalwart Penelope felt her heart beating in her chest.

"Be calm," said Falon. "The fear that you feel is more than simply proof that you are alive: it flows from the very real hope that you will still be alive tomorrow."

Brenawen smirked and said, "You're awfully wise for a crackpot, Colonel."

"Yes. Yes, I am. Yes," said Falon. "Yes, yes, yes."

And then the noise stopped. The soldiers outside the walls stood ready. They waited. And inside the castle, a mist crept out of the cracks between the stones. It poured out of the widows, and it rose from the very earth. It had no definite shape or color, for it would be blue in one moment, green in the next, and then violet after that. It was clammy and cold, and if you waved your hand through it, it clung to your fingers in wisps and curls. Then it began to coalesce, to take shape, and the forms of _men_ appeared within the castle. They appeared all over: in the yard, on the battlements, within the walls, here and there amongst the rebel soldiers, filling all the empty space between them. The mist solidified into bones, into bodies, into moving corpses: skeletons and zombies and vicious ghouls and soul-chilling wights still wrapped in their burial shrouds. Other clouds of the stuff remained insubstantial, taking the form of man-shaped shades and shadows only: wraiths, spectres, ghosts. They were mere images of long-dead men, but nevertheless they sapped the strength and spirit of all who gazed upon them.

Penelope buried her terror and held up her two sabres. "To all friends of Narnia…" she shouted, "to Islanders and Archenlanders… to all who stand with Lord Peter… we will not give in, and we will not stand down! We fight, for our lives, for our loves, for our countries! _We fight!_ "

* * *

"Sunset," said Sir Baelin. He smiled as the glowing wisps of ectoplasm condensed all around them and took the form of his undead minions. "It would seem that Jadis has created a monster she never meant to. Count Serpens, she could control. Sir Baelin, though… Sir Baelin is her undying enemy, and all the necromantic power that she has given me will be turned and loosed upon her!"

Pete gawked at all the zombies and wights in the chamber around them. The undead stood, and they stared with empty eye-sockets, but they made no move to attack. They awaited their dark master's command. "Hold the phone," said Pete. "You can still control the undead? These guys will do whatever you say?"

"Apparently so," said Baelin.

"But… you're human now," said Pete. "Aren't you?"

"Completely human, and very much alive," Baelin affirmed. "I can feel my heart beating within my chest… I feel the air fill my lungs… I can feel warmth. I have not felt these things in too many centuries. And now, it is Jadis's turn to know the cold oblivion of death."

Baelin didn't even need to speak the command. He seemed to merely will it, and the undead corpses marched out of the crypt. Baelin followed behind his soldiers, paying little heed to Pete or the Bards anymore.

* * *

Penelope and the other soldiers in Cair Paravel watched in utter confusion while the undead turned as one, stepping in time like well-drilled soldiers, and marched for the gates. They meant to leave Cair Paravel, and not one of them had lifted a finger to attack the rebels!

"This… could be some kind of trick?" Penelope wondered aloud. But she couldn't for the life of her think of any reason why their enemies would simply leave like this. Seconds ago, they had had every tactical advantage: position, surprise, and superior numbers. They could have wiped out the rebels in record time. But instead, they were leaving. This puzzled the centauress to no end.

Then, the door to the keep swung open, and all of the talking beasts emerged, fleeing in fright. They got well away from the door and gave it a wide berth, for even more undead then came forth from within the palace, and these too marched for the gates. All of the soldiers within the walls, centaurs and fauns and elves and dwarves and merrows and animals, watched as Cair Paravel was emptied of the unholy dead. Then, from the keep, even more figures emerged. There were Pete, and Cynthia, and Lumpkin. Penelope breathed a sigh of relief, and she had no doubt that Phineas and Brenawen were doing the same. There were Diarmuid and Cliodhna, but their moods were muted, and soon Penelope saw why: behind them, only six Bards came out alive. The seventh, Master Oghma, they carried. Last, there came another figure, one that Penelope didn't recognize at first. It was a man, human, with piercing eyes and a black beard… the centauress gasped. It couldn't be… Count Serpens? This was all too much. Penelope had to get down to the yard. She galloped along the wall and went for the stairs inside one of the towers.

* * *

Colonel Falon, commander of the Archenlander legions, howled and gritted his teeth together. "He's alive! How is he alive? He cannot be alive! Should not be alive!" The elf-hobgoblin hybrid drew his sword and readied himself to charge at the vampire. He would have Serpens's head if it was the last thing that he ever did.

But Penelope was swifter than the half-breed, and she galloped past him. "Peter! What is the meaning of this? What has happened? Why does Count Serpens walk among you like an ally?" The centauress pointed her swords at Baelin.

Pete came forward and pushed Penelope's weapons down. "Count Serpens is dead and gone!" said Pete. "It's over! The vampire is gone. _This_ guy," he pointed at the knight, "is Sir Baelin, a fellow Son of Adam… and enemy of Jadis."

Falon caught up and pointed his own sword at Baelin. "It's impossible!" he said. "Can't be possible. Serpens is tricky. You know how tricky he is, Peter, you were there with me! Let me kill him and end his tricks!"

Pete pulled his flintlock and pointed it at Falon. "Put it down, Colonel, or we're gonna have words. Get it through your head: Serpens is dead, Tara's been avenged… and Oghma gave his life for it."

Penelope shook her head and stared at Baelin in horror. His face was the face that been the bogeyman in their dreams, the demon who had hunted and haunted Peter for so long. At last, she said to the knight, "Can you prove, to Lord Peter's satisfaction, that you really are a Son of Adam?"

Pete just shook his head and said, "Penny, I'm already sure. Sir Baelin is on our side, and he's going to fight the Witch."

"It is as Lord Peter says," said Baelin, sneering at the centauress. "Now, horse-maid, if you will kindly step aside, I will command _my_ soldiers to destroy the enemies that await us outside these walls."

Penelope and Falon could only watch in open-mouthed fright as Sir Baelin, stalking behind a vast army of the dead, exited the gates of the Cair. Outside, confusion reigned, and then the noises of a battle could be heard. It sounded brutal. Terrifying. Pete, Penelope, and the others ran back up to the battlements so that they could look out onto the fields and see what was going on… and what they saw was truly horrible. The undead swept over the soldiers of Jadis like a wave of death itself, swallowing whole regiments and leaving only corpses in their wake. Goblin, dwarf, harpy, giant, they didn't discern or discriminate. They just destroyed. Serpens stood on the ground below, watching the battle from behind the ranks of his undead troops, and he raised up his iron broadsword in one hand and laughed. Then he turned around and called up to Peter, "There is a new power in Narnia, my friend, and it calls Queen Jadis an enemy! You and I are both Sons of Adam, Peter, and one of us will someday be king of this land! May it be the better of us!" And then Sir Baelin took off running, charging into the morass of combat, swinging his blade madly with two hands. He hacked and hewed and cleaved and cut… and he vanished into the throng. And, a short while later, the enemy soldiers sounded another retreat. The horde of Jadis fled. They ran away, heading for the hills to the north. The undead followed in hot pursuit, and Pete and the rebels saw nothing more of Sir Baelin that day.


	41. Chapter 41

IN the days and weeks that followed, there was much cleaning up to do around Cair Paravel. The enemies and their undead pursuers had disappeared into the northlands, and Sir Baelin, whether dead or alive, never came back. Nonetheless, many of the slain and wounded were strewn about the battlefield, and these had to be tended to—either buried, or burned, or cured and taken prisoner. That was grisly work, but it was wholly necessary and done as quickly as possible. After that, the Narnians turned their attention to Cair Paravel itself, which had fallen into a state of utter ruin down through the centuries of neglect. It would be a long while yet before it was once again the beautiful palace spoken of in myth and legend, but for now, they could at least clear out the rubble and debris and make the castle into a livable, fortified base.

Cavalry patrols consisting of centaurs and horse-mounted elves were sent throughout the countryside to assess the state of things. The land was wild and depopulated, as one might expect of the country which had belonged to Count Serpens; but the lateness of summer brought a warmth and freshness to everything which had not been seen in these parts for a millennium. At last, all of the many soldiers in the rebel army gathered together and insisted that Pete take Count Serpens's old title. At a ceremony in the cleared and cleaned-out hall of the palace, they sat Pete on the High King's Throne and…

"…As Princess of Islands, and the newly elected Chief Bard of the Circle of Seven, by all the authority vested in me do I dub thee Peter, Lord of Cair Paravel and Count of the Eastlands between the Glasswater and the Ettinsmoor." Cliodhna tapped Pete on either shoulder with the Islander cutlass that the human had carried since his adventures at sea. "Arise, Count Peter, Son of Adam, noble liege, and leader of the Narnian Rebellion."

Pete stood, and Cliodhna kissed him on the cheek. Then she moved out of the way and stood next to Diarmuid. Pete faced his people—his followers, his soldiers, his subjects—and said, "My friends, we've come this far, but we've still got a long way to go. Jadis's spell is broken, and her winter is fading away—" Here, Pete was interrupted by cheering. "—but she's still hiding out in a castle of ice, in the far northwest of Narnia! She's on the other side of the country, and we're going to have to fight for every inch, every yard of ground along the way. But, by God, we're not just going to fight—we're going to win! Do you want to win this thing?" He was answered by more cheers and shouts of "yes!" and "fight!" and "win!"

All of Pete's closest friends and officers stood next to him near the throne. (All except for Falon, that is, who still felt that he had been denied his just revenge by Sir Baelin's escape. The half-breed was off somewhere sulking.) Phineas leaned over to Pete and asked, "Where did _that_ speech come from?"

"My old high school football coach," Pete whispered back. "The guy knew how to rile up a crowd like you wouldn't believe."

* * *

The sea-people decided to take their leave after Pete's entitlement ceremony. Captain Diarmuid and all his buccaneers, Princess Cliodhna, Meulsine, the rest of the bards, and Grand Admiral Pwyll and his soldiers decided that it was high time that they returned to Narrowhaven. Diarmuid and Cliodhna especially felt that they had to go back to the Lone Isles and face down Queen Morrigan in person—but they weren't afraid, because they had the loyalty of the grand admiral, and Pwyll most definitely had the navy's support before the queen did. There were many more tearful goodbyes on all sides, made all the more wrenching by the further adventures that they had shared since first setting out, but it was indeed time for a parting of the ways. Pete and the Narnians were gearing up for a land war, and the merrow navy wouldn't be of much help to them. But Pwll promised to keep the ships sailing between the Islands and Cair Paravel, to keep Pete's people generously supplied; and he also vowed to sink any ship caught flying the colors of Jadis in his waters.

As for Diarmuid, that rakish merman once again promised Pete that he would give up his life of piracy and care for Cliodhna first, "Though I cannot say that me men will all be happy when the _Dawn Treader_ becomes little more than a royal pleasure-yacht," he said. "After the first ten or twenty years of good pay and easy work, it'll likely grow tiresome to them."

Cliodhna didn't have much to say to Peter anymore, but she kissed him in a sisterly fashion and said, "Let our two kingdoms always be friends and allies, darling Peter. Goodbye."

Last of all, Melusine approached the newly created Count of the Eastlands, bowed respectfully, and said, "We mourn Oghma's passing, my lord, but we do not blame you for it. None of us knew what would happen when we fought the demon Serpens. Oghma gave his life to save the soul of a man who is still innocent, despite what he has said to you. If you can find Sir Baelin and save him from himself, Lord Peter, then Master Oghma will not have died in vain."

After that, Captain Diarmuid, Princess Cliodhna, and the other six Bards boarded the _Dawn Treader,_ and they followed the Royal Navy out to sea on a course that would take them past Galma once again. Then they would turn southeasterly to the Seven Isles, and then straight east again for the distant Lone Islands and home.

* * *

August came and went, and the September days shortened and cooled. The leaves turned yellow and orange and red, and so did Cynthia's hair. Of course she and Phineas shared a room in Cair Paravel, which was more nicely furnished these days, if a bit crowded. It had to quarter the rebel army, after all; so many rooms that would normally be turned to other purposes, such as the grand ballroom, were pressed into duty as barracks. Despite Pete's frequent teasing, Phineas and Cynthia in fact discussed the prospect of marriage often; they simply kept such conversations to themselves. They both agreed that they wanted to marry; but they also felt that it would be best to wait until the war was over.

Lumpkin and Brenawen were still more or less happy together, but the demands on their time were many and daunting. All of the Red Dwarves in the rebel army—those from Narnia, from Terebinthia, and from Pyrstead—looked to Lumpkin as their _de facto_ leader, and to Brenawen as their top military commander. Their primary concern, though, was to keep the army armed. They forged guns, bullets, blades, mail, and everything else the soldiers needed to fight. Count Peter insisted that when they went into battle again, the rebels would be well-equipped, so that Jadis wouldn't know what hit her.

To that end, Pete called a council of war in mid-September so that he could confer with his officers and advisors: General Penelope; Colonels Phineas, Brenawen, and Falon; and Lumpkin and Cynthia. The seven of them, taken together, were the leaders of the rebel movement in the Eastlands—and now they had to decide what to do about furthering their goal.

"And unless anybody has any better ideas," said Pete, when he finished summing up their situation, "I think it's pretty obvious where we need to go next: west, to Beruna."

"The centaurs who live there have stayed loyal to Aslan," said Phineas.

"And there are rumors flying about that a huge lion has been seen going among them," added Cynthia. "Some of the birds who scout for us have reported seeing Aslan for themselves."

"If Aslan is in Beruna, then our course is decided," said Penelope with despondence in her voice. "We must go there and meet him."

"Okay then," said Pete, clapping his hands together. "Short council-meeting, just the way I like them. Class is dismissed; there's punch and pie in the lounge. Or, there would be, if we had a lounge. And I'm not sure how we would make punch in this universe. But… I guess, what I'm really trying to say is, does anybody else want pie?"

Sad to say, speeches like this were how Pete usually ended important meetings. It was a lucky thing that his friends had developed a certain patience for his verbal antics.

Phineas and Cynthia left quickly. After that, Brenawen dragged Lumpkin out of the council-chamber, despite the fact that the Red Dwarf obviously wanted pie too. Then Falon stood, shook his head at Pete's irreverence, and left. Penelope sat alone at the foot of the table, opposite Pete.

Pete kicked back in his chair, put his feet up on the table, and said, "Something on your mind, General?"

"Yes, my lord. As you know, Beruna was once my homeland, and unless things have changed greatly there—which they never do—I won't be welcome."

"Well," said Pete, "you're the commander of all my troops, so if they want to welcome me, they're just going to have to put up with you. They don't have a choice."

"My lord, I was thinking that perhaps it would be best—in order to keep negotiations with my people running smoothly and free from distractions—if I were to stay behind with the forces we leave here to guard Cair Paravel." Penelope stared unflinchingly at Pete and waited for him to consider her request.

"Now I'm thinking I shouldn't give you a choice either," said Pete. "Sooner or later, you've got to face these people and prove that you _can_ go home again. It's either that, or you run away from your family for the rest of your life and never set hoof in Beruna again."

"Perhaps, after the war—"

"Perhaps _during_ the war," said Pete. "I need you there with me, Penny. I can't fight the White Witch without you."

"Yes, you _can_ ," said Penelope. "I'm not that important."

"You're my _general_. If that's not important, what qualifies in your book?"

Penelope sucked in a breath and choked back a sniffle. "I… understand, Count Peter. I will… obey your directions."

Pete saw that Penelope—stubborn, unflappable Penelope—was literally on the verge of tears. He wondered what could possibly have her so emotional all of the sudden. "Penny, is there something you're not telling me? Something about Beruna?"

The centauress shook her head. "I've already told you everything, my lord."

"Then what's got your barding all in a bunch?"

Penelope glared at Pete, not least because of the vaguely insulting tone that his words had taken lately. "It's something centaurs don't discuss with outsiders," she growled.

Pete sat up in his chair and met Penelope's glare in kind. "Outsiders," he said. "That's… wow. Okay. You want your privacy? That's fine by me. But you're still coming to Beruna."

Penelope bowed her head. "As you wish, my lord."

* * *

A handful of days before the start of autumn (and the end of Pete's tenth month in Narnia), the army of Cair Paravel set out west for Beruna. They followed the course of the Rush River as it wound upward and inland. After two weeks, the passed south of the Owlwood. After three weeks, they marched between green, dome-shaped hills and came into a broad, gently-rolling valley. And here, they found another encampment—a vast and sprawling expanse of tents, many times larger than the camp that Pete and the others had encountered on the banks of the Glasswater. Here, it seemed, they had at last found the true strength of Narnia, for there were so many animals and fauns and centaurs and other creatures in this place that their number was quite beyond counting. The tents flew banners of red and yellow, and they carried the symbol of the golden lion. Aslan was here.

When Penelope gave the order, the army from Cair Paravel came to a halt. Pete gathered his companions and went down into the valley.

The animals on the outskirts of the camp—so many species that it bewildered the brain to try and note them all—saw Pete coming first, and they all fell silent at once. The roars, growls, chirps, and twitters ceased, and the crowd of animals parted to make way for Pete and his entourage. Then the fauns and the centaurs and the nymphs and the dwarves all did the same, bowing low when Pete passed by. Several of them greeted Pete with a subdued whisper of, "Your Majesty."

"I am never going to get used to the bowing and kowtowing," Pete whispered to his friends.

"They mean to honor Aslan by way of honoring you," said Phineas. "Would you deny them this?"

"I don't get what they need me for, if Aslan's already around here somewhere," said Pete.

The parting of the crowds made a rather obvious path across the field, and it led straight to a large tent in the center of the multitude. It didn't take much guessing to figure out that they were supposed to go there. So they followed the path laid out for them, and just as they came to the tent, there emerged from it a great lion. Just as Pete had been told, this lion dwarfed any other that he had ever seen. His eyes were somehow fierce and kind at the same time, and when he spoke, it was with low, rumbling voice that Pete recognized. This lion sounded just like the Yellow Wizard that Pete had met on the southern slope of Mount Pire. There was no question: this, indeed, was Aslan.

All of the Narnians in the camp bowed down again at the sight of Aslan, and this time, Pete's friends joined them. The human alone remained standing. "Peter," said Aslan, "you've come at last. We have much to discuss. Walk with me."

"Alone?" said Pete.

"Yes. What I have to say is only meant for a child of Adam's blood."

As Pete followed Aslan alone into a nearby grove of trees, several of the Narnians overheard the human utter a very odd phrase: "Am I going to have to explain to everyone in this universe who Charles Darwin was?" Whatever that meant, it must have been very funny, because it made Aslan laugh.

* * *

"I'm serious," said Pete. "This whole medieval superstition thing you've got going on in this world? I can understand it, because this world _is_ medieval. But still, the only reason I've come as far as I have is because of science. And I'm not even a scientist!"

"There _is_ great value to your philosophy," said Aslan. "Human science is very good for describing nature and building tools. It's rather inadequate for dealing with magic, though. How would your Charles Darwin explain fauns? Or centaurs?"

"You've got a point there," said Pete, "but they don't really count. They're chimeras; they're spliced together from species that already did evolve, on Earth. I don't know how in the world they got _here_ … but it's a pretty good bet that horses and human beings were already around for a very long time before the first centaur ever lived."

"A long time on Earth, perhaps," said Aslan, "but time flows differently in this world."

"Aha!" said Pete. "Time _is_ relative. We humans already figured that one out with science, thanks to Dr. Einstein."

Aslan chuckled softly, a low rumble that sounded like a lion's purr. "And you've learned from your friends in _this_ world that it was once called Dünya. Do you still presume that it is round? That it is a planetary orb, hurtling through space on its own inertia and the sun's gravitation?"

"Sure," said Pete. "I haven't seen anything to make me think otherwise."

"How do you know that in _this_ universe, the world isn't a flat disc and the center of everything? How do you know that the stars aren't a race of people who march across the sky and rearrange their formations to foretell future events?"

"I've seen a few clues that suggest otherwise," said Pete. "Plus, all the same laws of physics that apply back home seem to apply here. Same air, same gravity, same sunlight, same starlight. I bet if I measured a star's parallax from here, it would be light-years distant. And I bet, if I dug down into the rocks under the surface of this planet, and looked at the strata, I would find fossils. I don't know for _sure_ , but it's a good _deduction_. I'm a detective, Aslan. Or, I used to be, in the real world. Observations, facts, deductions… agnostic until the evidence is in. That's just how I think, and it's not going to change."

"If I wanted someone who thought like a Narnian, I wouldn't have needed to bring _you_ here," said Aslan.

"Then you're really the one who brought me here?" asked Pete. "To Narnia? To Dünya? And… you brought the others, too? Digory Kirke, and Sir Baelin?"

The lion sighed. "On Earth, Sir Baelin was a good and moral man, and perhaps the most merciful knight whoever lived. But on Dünya, he stumbled and fell all too quickly. And young Digory… I had such high hopes for him, but when he was tested, he gave into despair. As for you, Peter… you have come dangerously close your end as well."

"I have come pretty close to dying on more than one occasion since I got here," said Pete.

"That's not what I meant," said Aslan. "I haven't come here to bandy words and discuss philosophy, Peter. We have weightier matters to discuss."

"Like what?"

"At this very moment, your wedded wife sails to a distant island in the arms of another man," said Aslan. "This is something that the Witch can use against us."


	42. Chapter 42

"I don't get it," said Pete. "Clio's got to be a thousand miles away by now. How can Jadis possibly use her to get at us?"

"It's not the princess that concerns Jadis," said Aslan. "It's you. When you married Cliodhna, you spoke sacred vows in my name. And when you left her, you broke those vows."

Pete scowled. "Cliodhna and Diarmuid were in love before they ever met me. They deserve to be together. I did the right thing by getting out of their way."

"You don't understand," said Aslan. "You broke vows made in my name! This is a betrayal. You have directly betrayed _me._ "

"I'm sorry!" said Pete. "But it wasn't exactly the best of situations! Neither of us wanted to get married, but we didn't really have a choice!"

Aslan growled, and Pete shut himself up. (In fact, Pete winced and shut his eyes while the lion spoke.) "Listen carefully," said Aslan. "The Deep Magic of this world demands that traitors be given over to the witches! It's not the marriage that matters; it's the betrayal. Because of that, Jadis could claim you as hers. So I need you to hear me, Peter Pevensie! … _I forgive you._ "

Pete opened one eye and squinted at Aslan oddly. "Excuse me?"

"I forgive you," repeated Aslan. "You are absolved of your betrayal."

"Then… you don't mind that Clio and I got divorced?"

"Mind? Of course I _mind_ ," said Aslan. "But I also understand. That's why I can forgive you your trespass."

"Okay then," said Pete, breathing a sigh of relief. "Anything else?"

"Yes. Know that in the future, when you speak a sacred oath and mention me, you must be absolutely sincere."

"Sure," said Pete. "Your universe, your rules. I'll play nice."

"Good," said Aslan. "Let us return to the camp, then. Beruna is occupied by Jadis's soldiers, and we have much planning to do before we can liberate it."

* * *

Pete's friends hadn't been idle while he and Aslan had walked off to discuss things in private. Quite the contrary, they talked excitedly amongst themselves at the prospect of their dear leader and the mighty Aslan himself discussing the progress of the war. With Aslan and Peter working together, they believed, Jadis was surely done for!

But Penelope had other matters on her mind. This valley was just a short distance from the fords in the river where the town of Beruna sat—the homeland of centaurs in Narnia. In the days before the witches, it was said, centaurs roamed these plains and valleys freely. Then Jadis and her ilk had invaded, and the centaurs had built themselves a walled city, Beruna, for defense. For more than nine hundred years, Beruna had been synonymous with the centaur race.

Many of Penelope's people were among the army in Aslan's camp. Penelope recognized them, and she knew that they recognized her. The looks on their faces when they saw her… she couldn't bear them. They were judging her, she knew: judging her for disobeying her father, for leaving her husband, for serving the White Witch. Honorable centaurs simply didn't do the things that she had done. Hers were unconscionable crimes. Guilt weighed down heavily on Peter's chosen general.

And then another face appeared in the crowd, and this one looked at Penelope not with contempt or pity, but with wonder and curiosity. He was a male centaur, large and muscular, and quite handsome, only a year or two older than Penelope. He was Oreius… Penelope's mate.

Or, at least, he would have been if Penelope hadn't run away.

Oreius approached and bowed his head. "Lady Penelope. It has been… a long time."

"Oreius. It hasn't been long enough."

The centaur tilted his head and said, "Your father Creon and I have kept our promises to one another. He treats me as a son-in-law, in spite of your absence."

"I'm glad that you've found each other," said Penelope. "You seem to be getting along well without me."

"That's not true," said Oreius. "You are my wife; by our laws, I cannot take another."

"You could if you ran away, as I did."

"I have a duty here," said Oreius. "I am now the chief general of all Aslan's troops."

Penelope's eyes widened. "What happened to my father?"

"Creon was wounded in the last battle. Aslan breathed upon him and saved his life, but he is now too old to lead. He gave his position to me, as a father would pass it down to his son."

"Then… my father is here?" asked Penelope. Her voice twitched only slightly.

"He is," said Oreius. "And he knows that you've been fighting alongside the Son of Adam these past few months. He is prepared to reconcile with you and forgive everything."

"That's a problem," said Penelope, "because before that could happen, I would have to reconcile with you."

"My feelings for you haven't changed," said Oreius. "I had hoped—"

"You were wrong," said Penelope. "I've never loved you, and I never will."

"It matters but little," said Oreius. "You are here now, and by rights you belong to me. Sooner or later, you will accept this and return to our people's ways."

Penelope shot Oreius one of her best "please go ahead and burst into flames now" stares. "Where's my father?" she demanded.

"Creon is in the small tent on the southwest edge of the camp. Penelope, my wife, I wish that you—"

"Bite me," said Penelope, getting one of Pete's human sayings right for once. She went away, leaving Oreius dismayed and confused.

* * *

Pete and Aslan returned to the camp, only to encounter Penelope leaving quickly in a huff. "Aslan," said Pete, "I'd like to introduce you to Penelope, the general in command of my army."

Penelope looked at Aslan in shock. Then she remembered herself and bowed. "My lord."

"Child of the plains," said Aslan, "you seem distressed by something."

"I've only just learned that my father was wounded," said Penelope. "Thank you for curing him."

"I have cured his body, but not his spirit," said Aslan. "He was once a great leader, but now he has given his duties over to your husband, Orieus."

Pete's eyes bugged when he heard that. "Your… husband? You never told me that you'd actually married the guy!"

"Later," hissed Penelope.

Aslan turned to Pete and said, "Oreius is a trustworthy commander. General Penelope will report to him in the future."

"I'd really rather have Penny in charge," said Pete. "We've been through a lot together, and I trust her decisions."

"I've already chosen a commander," said Aslan. "It's Oreius."

"So says the lion who talks like Qui-Gon Jinn," muttered Pete.

"It's all right," said Penelope. "I'll do as Aslan says and report to General Oreius."

"As it should be," said Aslan. "Come, Peter. We must meet with the general and discuss the upcoming battle."

Pete asked, "Are you coming, Penny?"

The centauress shook her head. "I have to find my father."

"All right," said Pete. "Catch you on the flip-mode."

* * *

Penelope found the tent that she was looking for and pushed her way inside. What Oreius had called a "small" tent wasn't really that small by human standards, for it had been made to house a centaur. Creon rested on a bed of straw by the wall opposite the door. He was white in hair and beard, and bent with age. It was clear that his strength had left him long ago. Penelope was distraught by the very sight of him: she remembered her father strong and hale.

"Father," she said.

Creon looked up. "Penelope. It's good that you've come." The old centaur stretched and righted himself, tucking his four legs underneath his body so that he could properly sit up.

"Father, I've come here with Lord Peter, the—"

"The Son of Adam, yes, I know. This goes a long way toward your redemption in my eyes, Daughter. I have only one question more." The centaur might have been old, but he still had that fearsome glare that could make a lesser soul wither and break down underneath its weight (just in case the gentle reader was wondering where Penelope got it from).

"Ask me anything but that which I know you must," said Penelope, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

Creon said, "It seems that I owe a great debt, but I find myself unable to pay it. I have promised the young General Oreius the one thing that I can never give to him: an obedient wife."

"I'm sorry, Father," said Penelope. "I cannot allow myself to be given and taken like… like a barrel of oats to be sold in the market!"

"Do you really think that's what I did, my daughter?" said Creon. "I chose for you a husband from among the best of all our kind! Oreius is good, and honorable, and from a well-to-do family! Why can't you simply honor my wishes, when they are for your own good?"

"I do not love him," said Penelope simply.

"What has that to do with mating?" said Creon. "You're not some nymph or fauna, to cast your affections to the wind and hope that your heart lands in the hands of a worthy male! That's not how our people do things!"

Penelope swallowed loudly, for she knew that what she was about to say next was highly improper. "Did you love my mother?" she asked.

Creon stared at his daughter in horror. It was as if she had just plunged a knife into his heart. "Yes," he answered firmly. "Yes, in time we grew to love each other very much. Never question that again."

"Don't worry," said Penelope, rising to leave. "I won't bother you anymore—not with questions or anything else."

* * *

That night, Pete wandered alone on the edge of the camp. He had to get away from all of it—from the bowing, the scraping, the "Son of Adam," the "my good lord," the "as you wish," and especially the "Your Royal Majesty." It was starting to wear him down. If he had to tell one more person to stand the hell up and just call him "Pete," he was going to lose it…

"My lord."

"I swear to God, Penny, this is not the time for formalities."

"Pete, then." The centauress was also avoiding the camp. If her people had disapproved of her actions before, now they had twice the reason to shun her. This was her chance to accept her fate and submit to her father and to Oreius, and she was passing it by. She was giving it up for… she didn't know what.

"Rough day?" said the human.

"You might say that," said Penelope.

Pete looked up at the starry sky. He liked these moments between him and Penny. They were comfortable. Quiet. Free from drama. "You didn't tell me that you got married."

"Centaurs don't exactly have weddings," said Penelope. "The females are simply given to the males, and that's it. As far as my people are concerned, I belong to my so-called husband; but I've never let him touch me."

"Oh," said Pete. "In that case, I guess you're not married after all."

"I'm glad you see things my way," said Penelope.

"What can I say? I'm an old-fashioned kind of guy. People are married when they say their I-do's, kiss each other, and head for the honeymoon suite."

Penelope trotted up to Pete and looked him in the eyes. "You're better than we are, Peter."

"Who's better?"

"Humans," said Penelope. "Your ways are better."

"Were not all that great," said Pete. "We screw up, we do bad things. And my ways aren't _all_ humans' ways. Just American-type humans, which isn't saying all that much. Lots of people on my world have marriage customs more like yours than mine."

"Well whatever they are, human or American, I like them," said Penelope. "I like you."

"I like you too, Penny. I— _hmgph._ " Pete was cut off by Penelope gripping him around the shoulders and pressing her lips to his. It was sudden and strange and not at all what Pete expected. Seriously, how many different species of women did this make now? Four or five too many, by Pete's estimation. And this… Pete could not foresee this ending well at all. His arms became rigid and his body stiffened in reaction to the surprise of it all.

Penelope certainly sensed Pete's hesitation when she kissed him. She she pushed herself away, wiped off her mouth, and blushed a bright shade of crimson. "I… I'm sorry, my lord, I… I don't know what… I've made a mistake."

Pete let out a heavy breath and said, "Yeah. Mistake. Because… this… couldn't ever work between us." It was weird, Pete thought. All this time together, and he had never even considered Penelope in a romantic light. For obvious reasons.

"No, of—of course it couldn't," stammered Penelope. "It wouldn't be right."

"Because you're a centaur," said Pete, "and I'm… I'm… _not_ a centaur."

"And I'm not a Daughter of Eve. But you are. Human, I mean; not a daughter of… anybody…" It was clear, as Pete and Penelope babbled back and forth to fill the mortified emptiness between them with something like conversation, that they were equally flustered by what had just happened.

"So… we can just ignore this and forget it," said Pete.

"Right. We'll pretend that it never happened," said Penelope.

"Never happened." Pete licked his lips and shuffled his feet and looked every which way except in Penelope's direction. "I'm, uh, I'm gonna… go… get some… air. Uh… see you in the morning."

"Good night," said Penelope. When Pete was out of sight, the centauress put her hands on either side of her head and bit her tongue to keep from screaming. Why had she kissed Peter? He was her liege lord, and a Son of Adam no less! Whereas _she_ was a centaur, a half-beast, and one who was shunned and dishonored by her people! For the first time in her life, Penelope felt completely and truly humiliated.


	43. Chapter 43

THE centaurs, horses, and other large beasts in Pete's army had helped to pull the cannon all the way from Cair Paravel to the valley outside Beruna, and Pete meant to keep them a part of his battle strategy. Beruna was a walled city, built for defense, which was why Jadis had held it for so long. Far fewer centaurs sided with Jadis than with Aslan, but those who did choose to fight for the White Witch remained inside Beruna for protection. From what Aslan and Oreius said, there were other creatures ensconced behind those walls as well, things more fearsome even than harpies and giants.

"If we've got to breach the walls," Pete said, "that's what guns are good for. We won't need trumpets to bring Jericho a-tumbling down." He was once again in the central tent with Oreius and Aslan, finalizing the plans for tomorrow's attack.

General Oreius lamented, "The walls of Beruna have stood for nearly a thousand years at the heart of centaur civilization. To think that we must destroy them now in order to save Beruna's people."

"They were only built in the first place to defend your people from the witches," said Aslan. "When Jadis is defeated, they will not be missed."

Oreius bowed to Aslan and said, "Very well. We will put Count Peter's 'guns' on the front lines and batter down the walls, making way for the main thrust into the city."

Pete looked over the map of the city that Oreius had sketched. "How accurate is this? Because the streets are really wide, and the buildings seem farther apart that I would've guessed."

"It is a centaur city," Oreius smiled. "We need a bit more space than humans might."

"Oh. Sure," said Pete. "Well, that's good; it'll make it a little easier to fight our way through and take the town. But going from street to street and house to house… it's still going to get bloody."

"There are many strange beasts defending Beruna," said Aslan. "To spare your warriors the worst of their attacks, they should stay behind me at all times."

"Okay," Pete nodded. "Aslan first; then guns; then everybody else."

* * *

Pete had a tent of his own, as befit a nobleman in charge of a large segment of the attacking force. On the morning of the battle, two days since they had joined up with Aslan's army, he emerged from this tent in full battle regalia: shining armor of polished steel, a fine suit of half-plate and mail that weighed more heavily on the shoulders than full jousting-plate would, but which allowed for more freedom of movement in the joints. (Lumpkin and Brenawen had personally seen to the forging of this armor back in Cair Paravel, and Pete had to admit that he greatly admired their work.) Pete's cutlass had been discarded in favor of a long sword. Pete knew that he would never have the agility to fight with a pair of swords the way Penelope did, so he focused his training on a single weapon, and he had become a passably fair swordsman in the last several months. Then, of course, he also had strapped to his hip a brace of flintlock pistols, each with a single ball and charge of powder. His revolver had been lost long ago, and he hadn't quite figured out how to make a new sixgun yet, not even with the help of the dwarves; so he had to carry several pistols if he wanted to go into battle without worrying about reloading after each and every shot.

Lumpkin had been waiting outside the tent for Peter, and now that the human had emerged, the dwarf ran up to him and said, "You look very regal in that armor, Count Peter! How does it feel? Not too uneven or top-heavy, I hope. How's the movement in your wrists and elbows?"

"It's fine, Lumpkin," said Pete. "In fact, it's more than fine; it's great. You and Bren did a heck of a job on this."

"What a relief," said the dwarf. "I was worried about the wrists. And the ankles. You _can_ move your feet properly, can't you?"

"My feet are fine too," said Pete, "but now that you mention it, it's a little tight in the neck…"

"In the neck? Oh, dear me! Brenawen _did_ warn me that the mail-coif might be a bit too constrictive! There's still time, my lord—I can have it adjusted, and—"

"Don't worry about it," said Pete. "I'll just have to live with it until after the battle. But, as you can see, I can nod my head, I can turn my head, and I can… _**ouch!**_ "

"Oh no!" cried Lumpkin. "What's happened?"

"I think I strained something," Pete groaned. "Something in my neck… it popped…"

"Oh no, oh no!" fretted the dwarf. "I've done something terrible! My armor has maimed you, or broken your neck and paralyzed you forever, or—" Lumpkin stopped his ramblings when he saw that Pete was looking down at him and laughing. "My lord…?"

"Psyche!" said Pete. "I'm only kidding, Lumpkin. There's nothing wrong the armor, nothing wrong with my neck. It all fits me just perfectly."

"Nothing wrong…?"

"Nothing at all," said Pete. "So quit fussing. The only thing that's going to hurt me out there is some enemy's weapon. But it'll have to get through this dwarf-armor first, and that's really saying something."

"It's not nice to play jokes on people like that," grumbled the dwarf.

"Aw, quit bellyaching," said Pete. "It's time to get this show on the road."

He and Lumpkin made their way through the camp, and they found Phineas and Cynthia sitting together on a log. Cynthia rested her head on the faun's muscular shoulder, but when she saw Pete, she whispered something to Phineas, and they both stood and nodded their heads to him in greeting.

"Are you guys ready?" asked Pete.

Phineas and Cyntha both had their bows in hand; the nymph fingered her bowstring nervously. "We're ready," she said, "but for some reason, this time, everything feels different."

"It's because we're going into open battle," said Phineas. "And this time, we are the ones attacking a defended position. It will be dangerous for all of us."

"But it's got to be done," said Pete. "Beruna is smack-dab in the middle of Narnia, and it's in between us and the Witch's castle."

Phineas said, "I trust that you, Aslan, and this General Oreius have all come up with a worthy plan?"

"The best we could think of in a day," said Pete. "It's pretty straight-forward, really. Knock down the walls and take the city head-on. We're on a flat, wide-open prairie, so there's not a lot of cover to hide behind. And they certainly know that we're coming, so there's no point in being subtle."

"Still, it's awfully bold," said Phineas. "I would expect something a little more… _indirect,_ coming from you."

"Aslan's not exactly indirect about anything," said Pete, "and he's kind of calling the shots here. Which suits me just fine, by the way."

"But you'd still rather have Penelope in command than Oreius," said Cynthia.

"Definitely," said Pete. "Oreius is… I don't know for sure, because I just don't know him all that well yet, but he doesn't seem very inventive. He's not the type to break with tradition, and in war, that's not such a great thing."

Onward they strolled through the camp, until they found Brenawen and Falon talking together. Brenawen had a stick, and she was scratching maps in the ground. "General Penelope's plan would work just fine if you sent your elves along with her," she was saying to him. "They're lithe and quick enough to fit through."

Pete walked up to the two of them and asked, "What's this about a plan of Penelope's?"

Brenawen looked up at Pete and then pointed to the top of her map. "The walls of Beruna already have two gaps in them," said the dwarf. "The Rush River runs right through the city, north and south. General Penelope says that the channels under the walls are barred and likely to be guarded—"

"Which is why we're taking the direct approach," said Pete. "Those drain-tunnels were the first thing we considered, but Oreius said that they'd be too well-defended to risk our using them to get inside the city."

"Yes, but Penelope thinks that an appropriate diversion—such as, for example, bombarding the city's east gates with your brass guns until there's a hole so big that they'll have to put all their men there to plug it up—should suffice to draw any reserve guards away from the tunnels." Brenawen put her hands on her hips and looked up at Pete with smug triumph on her face.

Pete looked to Falon. "What do you think, big guy?"

"I think the plan has potential," said Falon. "And Brenawen is right. My infantry should form the vanguard, the first legion to the south and the second to the north. Archers should follow us in, since we'll want to be quiet, whereas you'll want to keep your musketeers on the frontline."

The human smacked himself on the forehead. "I can't believe that I didn't think of this. Hang on, everyone… I've got to go talk to Penny."

* * *

Pete ran through the camp, asking every centaur he encountered whether they had seen General Penelope anywhere. Most of them said that they hadn't, of course; but eventually, Pete found his way to Oreius and Aslan, who walked among the talking animals and prepared them for their role in the upcoming attack.

"Hey," said Pete. "We need to make a slight addition to the battle plan."

"You've thought of something else?" asked Aslan.

"Not me; Penelope. Take a look." Pete took a stick and sketched an even cruder map in the dirt than Brenawen had. He briefly outlined what he knew.

"It still won't work," said Oreius. "The tunnels are each warded by three rows of thick steel bars. Even if you sent dwarves, with all their skill, they could not cut through in time to matter."

"Then we forget stealth and just bomb the tunnels," said Pete. "Those walls are so thick that a few powderkegs won't dent the stone or collapse the drains, but they _will_ take out the bars!"

"It is a good plan," said Aslan. "It allows us to attack the city from three sides. General Oreius, find Penelope and bring her here."

Oreius looked curiously at Peter, and then left.

"Like I keep telling everybody, there's a reason I put Penny in charge," said Pete.

"You are fond of her," said Aslan.

"Yeah. We're good friends."

Oreius returned, and Penelope followed closely behind. "You asked for me, my lords?" she said.

"General Penelope," said Aslan, "Peter has told me of your battle-plan, and I find that it has merit."

Penelope stared wide-eyed at Pete, for, of course, she had only given her plan to Brenawen. "Bren told you about my idea?"

"Yeah," said Pete. "It's a good idea. We're going with it."

"We're incorporating it into the original plan," corrected Oreius. "Count Peter, I understand that your 'gunpowder' requires fire; but the drain-tunnels in the walls carry the waters of the Rush River through Beruna. Will these 'bombs' of yours work if they're wet?"

"No," said Pete, "but we can paint the kegs with pitch to make them watertight, and put them on rafts. The river won't be a problem."

"Nevertheless, you should hold off your secondary attacks until we've already gained Beruna from the east," said Aslan. "You mustn't attack the city until I have entered it myself."

Penelope bowed to the lion. "As you wish, my lord."

Pete waited until Aslan and Oreius left (but the centaur didn't leave without casting a suspicious glance at Pete and Penelope). Once they were gone, Pete turned to Penny and asked, "Why didn't you come to me with your ideas?"

Penelope held her breath for just a moment. Then she let it out and said, "I don't know, Peter. Perhaps I was… embarrassed about last night."

"Oh. Okay, sure, I can understand that." Then he grinned and said, "You know, being kissed by a centaur is _not_ the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me. I _was_ married to a mermaid for a couple of weeks."

"That was different, my lord. The mer-people are… well, a _people_. They're the Children of Water, just as you are a child of Adam and Eve. _I_ , on the other hand, am a beast."

"Ah, come on," said Pete. "You know that I don't really believe that."

"It doesn't matter what you believe," said Penelope. "It's just the way things are. We were right to stop ourselves when we did. We should simply… forget that it happened."

"Okay," said Pete. "If that's what you want."

"It is."

"All right then." Pete shrugged. "I've got to go rally the troops. It's almost showtime."

"Of course," said Penelope. Pete started to walk away, but she stopped him. "My lord!"

Pete turned around. "Yeah, Penny?"

"Your armor makes you look very… kingly."

"Thanks," said Pete. He smiled, gave Penelope a thumbs-up and went off to lead his army into battle.

* * *

Aslan roared. When that voluminous sound echoed off the hillsides, everybody in the rebel camp knew that it was time to march westward and out of the valley. They had already spent most of the day packing up all of the equipment and materiel that they would need, and now the soldiers and the animals and the carts of supplies formed a wide, slow column that wound its way between the hills and out of the lowland.

They were only a league or so from Beruna, so it wasn't long at all before the town came into view. The centaur city was in the middle of a vast, flat plain, broken only by the sight of the Rush River winding across the countryside. The army of Aslan arrayed itself into discreet units and formed a long line that ran north and south, facing the east side of the city.

It was Peter who gave the command. Centaurs came forward, drawing behind them the wheeled cannon-mounts. Then Red Dwarves joined them, figuring trajectories, sighting in the city walls, angling the guns, and loading them with propellant and projectile. Then, on a signal from the human, all of the dwarves touched sputtering fuses to the breech-hole in the back of the cannon where the powder was exposed. A sound like thunder, a sound to rival Aslan's roar, boomed throughout the countryside… and across the field, cannon-balls crashed into the sod before the walls, into the walls themselves, and into some of the high guard-towers above them. Those shots that struck true took huge chunks out of the stone, leaving large gaps where the bricks had been blown clean away. One lucky shot almost collapsed one of the outer parapets completely.

"I'll bet that got their attention!" Pete shouted to the artillerists. "Now aim all your shots for the gates!"

Thus commenced the bombardment of Beruna's outer walls. The dwarves aimed the great guns and refined their shots, growing more and more accurate with each volley. The next one battered down the great iron doors; and the one after that put an ever-growing hole in the walls themselves. Now the rebels could see that Beruna's defenders, centaurs and hobgoblins and minotaurs for the most part, had abandoned the walls and towers themselves, and they waited on the streets within the city. This was it, thought Pete. The way was open, and it was time to charge. By now, Penelope would be sneaking off to the north and Falon off to the south. He held up his heavy long-sword… and he waited on Aslan's pleasure. To the left of him, General Oreius nodded. To Peter's right, Aslan nodded as well, and then he opened his mouth and roared once again. The cannon-fire ceased.

Pete lowered his sword and yelled at the top of his lungs. He ran forward, sprinting on foot as best as he was able in his armor.

The Narnian rebels charged.


	44. Chapter 44

ASLAN, Peter, and Oreius spearheaded the deliberate dash for the fallen gates of Beruna. Within the city, some hundreds of centaurs, minotaurs, and hobgoblins stood behind black shields and formed a bristling wall of pikes and lances. Still, the rebels charged, and the centaurs who were with Oreius gradually pulled ahead of the bounding animals and fauns. The enemy shield-wall stood firm, as if waiting to be trampled down by the oncoming charge… and then, just as Aslan and Peter were overtaken by their own centaurs and well within a hundred yards of the broken walls, the soldiers of Jadis stood aside… to allow a swarm of small, knee-high creatures to pass through their line. They were like short goblins, but slender in the middle and even more spindly in the limbs, and with long ears that swept out into tufted points. A cry arose from many of the centaurs and fauns around Peter: "Gremlins!" And that was when things started to go wrong.

Several of the centaurs dropped their shields or lances, and the straps and buckles holding their armor together just broke and fell apart. Peter pulled one of his pistols and shot a gremlin dead, but when he tried it again, the second pistol simply jammed and refused to fire. Behind Pete, the fauns fared even worse with their muskets. Some of the barrels fouled and burst, while others outright exploded, showering lethal shrapnel on their wielders.

The charge of the rebel centaurs was stopped by their confusion, and so Aslan ran ahead of them again. "Behind me!" he commanded. And then he faced the gremlins, and he roared… and all of the tiny creatures were stunned where they stood, as if compelled to stand stock-still in a daze… and their spell of bad luck was broken. Armor stopped malfunctioning, and guns no longer misfired. The lion pounced upon the lot of them and ravenously tore them to pieces with vicious swipes from his claws.

Now Phineas emerged from the mass of rebels and ordered his fauns to form ranks. The front line of musketeers knelt, aimed, and fired on Phineas's command. Within the city, several of the queen's soldiers, mostly hobgoblins and minotaurs, fell dead. Then another row of fauns fired a volley, this time aiming for Black Dwarves and enemy centaurs. "Bayonets!" ordered Phineas.

"Oreius, Peter, to me!" said Aslan. The lion leapt through the breech in the wall, and Pete jogged behind him. Oreius and the rebel centaurs charged into the city after them, and Phineas and his fauns came after that. The charge of Aslan and the centaurs carried them past the front lines of the queen's troops, though many soldiers on both sides were cut down as they flew past each other. Behind them, Pete could see the fauns engaging with these regulars in hand-to-hand mêlée, pikes versus bayonets, while further behind, other fauns reloaded their muskets…

And then Pete found himself in a broad boulevard, a wide street that cut straight through Beruna's heart. All around, centaur fought centaur, soldiers of Aslan against soldiers of Jadis. A squad of hobgoblins appeared, marching out from an alleyway behind a Black Dwarf who seemed to be their commander. The dwarf spotted Pete and gave a cry; but Pete pulled his last loaded flintlock and shot the dwarf between the eyes. Then the hobgoblins were upon him, and Pete fought for his life with two hands on his sword-hilt. He swung hard overhead and cleaved the helmet of one of the hobgoblins; then he swept back, parried a blow from a spear, and riposted off, stabbing another of the monsters in the belly, and ramming his armored shoulder into a third, knocking that one off of his feet. Before he could finish him off, though, the last one swiped at Pete from the left. Pete dodged one swing… and then another… and then he parried one. They traded a few more blows, and then Pete whirled around and slashed his foe across the neck. The last hobgoblin, the one left prone on the ground, tried to scramble away, but Pete caught up to him and delivered a clean _coup de gr_ _â_ _ce_.

Pete pressed his way down the boulevard, fighting hobgoblins and dwarves and dodging the charges of centaurs and minotaurs, striking out at those larger foes only when he was able. He couldn't see Oreius; he couldn't see Aslan. Then, he rounded another corner and came to a broad intersection between streets, and he thought he saw the great lion out of the corner of his eye. But, wait, there was another lion, coming down another avenue. And another was directly ahead of Pete, stalking down the main boulevard. Only, these weren't lions—not exactly lions, anyway. They looked more like a sick parody of lions, with mangy fur of dirty yellow, scaly tails with scorpion-stingers on the ends of them, and faces with broad, toothy mouths and button noses where a lion would have a feline muzzle. Pete knew his mythology well enough to recognize these things: manticores.

"Peter!" shouted a familiar voice. It was Aslan. The lion dove in front of the human, and just in time, too, because the nearest manticore opened its mouth and breathed out a jet of flame! Peter felt the heat of the fiery breath singe and scorch him, but Aslan shielded the human from the worst of it… and when the flame subsided, and Pete was able to look again, he saw that Aslan was altogether unscathed.

"Behind me," said Aslan once again.

"You got it," said Pete, panting heavily from the surge of adrenaline.

Upon seeing Aslan, the manticores seemed unsure of what to do. But one of them ran forward, his stinger whipping overhead, and he jabbed it down toward the great lion. Aslan deftly sprang aside, making way for Pete to hack and slice at the tail with his sword. The stinger fell away, oozing greenish poison, and the manticore howled. Then, there were Oreius and the rest of his cavalry; the centaurs charged past, and their sturdy lances made short work of these beasts.

Now the fortress in the center of Beruna was in sight, and the way was clear. Aslan gave the order, and the rebel soldiers formed behind him. They ran to take the bridge that spanned the Rush River.

* * *

General Penelope waded up to her withers in the shallow water along the eastern bank of the Rush. Behind her, the second legion of elf soldiers marched with swords at the ready. Since they were heading upriver and against the current, some of the elves held onto the ropes that drew three small rafts, each one piled with powderkegs. They were especially careful not to upset these rafts, since these were the keys with which they would pass into the city. Behind the elves, Cynthia led a company of archers: nymphs, faunas, and centauresses.

The walls above the river were deserted. No sentries could be seen. It seemed that Penelope's intuition had been correct: the direct assault on the east gates had indeed drawn the guards away from this unassuming passage beneath the north wall. The general hoped that upriver, on the south side of the city, Colonel Falon and the first Archenlander legion were enjoying similar good fortune.

They came to the mouth of the drain. It was semi-cylindrical, perhaps fifteen yards wide, with rather less than five yards of clearance between the ceiling and the surface of the water. The steel bars that blocked the way were a foot apart, and several inches thick. "Bring the bomb," said Penelope.

Two elves waded forward in the water, pressing against the current. They placed the raft near the bars in the center of the opening and tied it off. Then Penelope, who had come to understand gunnery and explosives quite well through Pete's instructions, affixed a long fuse to one of the barrels. She waited for everybody else to get well clear, and then she struck a light, held it to the fuse, and ran away with the river's current at her back.

A few seconds later, and the blast rocked the walls and tore the bars open. Twice more they had to repeat this operation, since two more rows of bars warded the tunnel, but each time, Penelope used a longer fuse, so that she would have more time to get clear after lighting it. On the third bombing, she was only barely out of the mouth of the tunnel again before it went off, and the echo left her ears deafened and ringing.

Now the path was clear, and the elves followed the river underneath the walls and into the city. Behind them, archers of different races waded with their bows held ready above the water.

Penelope was the first to exit the tunnel, and when she saw what was waiting for them, she came to a halt and went pale. Behind her, the elves bunched up and wondered what had their commander so worried. The nymphs and other archers in the rear of the column couldn't even see what was going on.

Standing in the river, which only came up to its knees, was a troll. It was chained and muzzled, held firmly in place by a dozen hobgoblins. But when Penelope and the elves came out of the tunnel, it began to huff and snort, and its great boulder-like fists pounded on the surface of the water, sending waves dashing over the rebels. It pulled at its chains and tore their metal bolts out of the ground, and its hobgoblin caretakers were sent flying. The troll scratched at the scaly, rock-textured hide around its face and neck, trying to get the muzzle off… and then it clamped down on the metal strips with its clumsy fingers, and crushed with all its might, and the muzzle was torn away and crumpled up like tinfoil. The hobgoblins scrambled away in fright; and the troll roared in berserk fury.

Penelope had seen a troll only once before: when the creature had pursued them through the dwarf-tunnels under Mount Pire and slain all but half of her old company. Now she was faced with this same force of nature, this same reckless hatred and mindless hunger. The centauress did the only thing she could: she steeled her courage and ordered the elves to charge.

The Archenlanders drew their swords and attacked. Penelope twirled her sabres and led them. From behind, the arrows of the nymphs and others peppered the troll, but those tiny shafts did nothing more than annoy the stone-skinned beast. It swept its claws back and forth, sending elves flying or simply cutting them cleanly into three and four pieces each. And when Penelope came within reach of those claws, the troll suddenly seemed to take on an aspect of intelligence—and malice. It held out one finger, with one claw like a great, curved scimitar, and it speared Penelope through the side of her equine flank. As the blood seeped forth from the wound, Penelope grew woozy and verged on blacking out. But before she did, the troll reared back its head and let out a strange sound, a high-pitched scream. If Pete had been there, he would have said that it sounded like an air-raid siren. But Pete wasn't there, and the only thing that Penelope could liken this noise to was a bird's screech. The triumph of the troll sounded like the cry of a hawk from hell itself.

* * *

Outside of Beruna, the Red Dwarves continued to load the cannon and fire upon any squadrons of foemen that tried to exit the city. They did what they could to cover their allies within the walls, but in truth, it was up to Aslan, Pete, and the others now.

And then a shrill cry came from somewhere within the walls, like the screech of a great eagle, only many times louder and higher. For some instinctive reason, it sent shivers down the spines of the dwarves. And then, something happened: within the city, whole buildings burst open, their roofs thrown off and their walls cast down. Six times this happened, at different points around the edge of the town, and as the dust and rubble cleared, where each building once stood, an angry troll now roared and raged. They responded to the signal from their fellow troll by clawing, stomping, and pounding everything in sight. They wreaked more havoc on the city itself than any soldiers—but when anybody other than a hobgoblin was unlucky enough to get in the way of a troll, that unfortunate was doomed. A troll only knew its smaller hobgoblin kin from the other races it called prey; it didn't distinguish between Black Dwarves and Red Dwarves, or centaurs fighting for Jadis and those fighting for Aslan. It just killed and fed.

Brenawen and the other dwarves saw this strange occurrence from outside the city, and the colonel in command of the dwarf artillerists rushed into action. "Aim those guns!" she ordered. "Fire at the trolls—the trolls!" And the dwarves aimed their cannons at the furious beasts that were now cutting swaths of destruction toward the center of the city.

"Oh dear, oh dear," said Lumpkin, who was close at Brenawen's side. "It seems that we're only making them mad."

The trolls moved with surprising speed, so it was a rare thing when a cannonball actually struck one. One of the artillery-teams was extremely lucky: they hit a troll upside the head with one of the cannon-blasts, crushing its temple and causing it to fall over dead. Most of the other shots, though, only bounced off of the shell-like hide on the troll's backs, or careened into a building in the general vicinity of the troll. Eventually, the five remaining trolls noticed that they were being fired upon from outside the city… and, just as Lumpkin had said, it made them very mad.

"Keep firing!" said Brenawen. "If we can draw them out of the city and away from Count Peter, so much the better!"

The Red Dwarves followed Brenawen's instructions and continued to bombard the trolls. These creatures were powerful, but they weren't smart, and it didn't take much at all to provoke them. One of them shrieked and pointed at the dwarven company beyond the city bounds; and then another followed suit, shrieking and pointing. Soon, all five trolls were making for the walls, leaping over them or simply bashing through. They were trying to get to the dwarves.

Then, to the dwarves' shock and horror, a sixth troll appeared, from the river to the north, _outside_ the city—the direction that General Penelope and the second legion of Archenlanders had taken.

The half-dozen trolls sprinted or knuckle-dragged their way over the field. Brenawen kept the dwarves firing the cannons, and one of the trolls was struck in the head, and it fell away. Then another was brought down in a similar fashion, leaving only four.

Many other dwarves weren't manning the heavy guns: they had muskets, and these formed ranks behind Lumpkin and picked their shots like snipers. "Aim for the eyes and the mouth!" said Lumpkin. "They're the trolls' only weak points!"

The cannons were loaded, aimed, and fired again. By concentrating their fire, the dwarves were able to take down a third troll, and a fourth. And now the distance between the trolls and the dwarves was surely closed, and the raging towers of muscle and teeth and claws and stone were upon the gunners.

Lumpkin stood ahead of the other dwarf musketeers and drew his own weapon, something special that he had put together with Peter's help. Pete had once described shotguns to Lumpkin, and the dwarf wondered whether the principle could be applied to the flintlocks that they were capable of smithing. Pete had told him, yes, it could—early shotguns were called blunderbusses. They had a trumpet-shaped flare on the end of the barrel, so that the weapon could be easily loaded with powder, shot, and wadding. This was the gun that Lumpkin drew, a short-barreled, trumpet-muzzled musketoon. He called over his shoulder, "You lads take the one on the left; I've got the one on the right!"

Several nearby dwarves looked as if they were about to protest, but Brenawen said, "My husband is Lumpkin Troll-Slayer! If he says he can take one by himself, believe him!" And so, all of the dwarf musketeers fired their guns at the face of the left troll—and one of the shots was lucky enough to find the troll's eye, which sent that bullet into the creature's brain and killed it at once.

As for Lumpkin, he calmly took careful aim and waited for the troll to close. Then he leveled the blunderbuss and sprayed a cone of hot leaden shot into the monster's face. The troll was now blinded, and it raged and it roared and it swiped its claws, and at last it dove to the ground, feeling around for Lumpkin. Still just as calm as you please, that most unusual of dwarves stepped out of the way, drew his hand-axe, and aimed for one of the chinks in the troll's scaly hide, a soft spot in the neck. He struck… and he hacked… and he chopped… and after six or seven more gruesome blows, the troll finally stopped twitching. Covered in gore and dripping with black troll-ichor, Lumpkin raised up his axe and faced his people. And the Red Dwarves who were present to witness the Battle of Beruna would ever afterward hail Lumpkin and Brenawen as dwarf-king and dwarf-queen, subordinate in rank to none but the High King of Narnia and to Aslan himself.

* * *

A centaur who had been horribly burnt by manticore-breath and stung several times lay on the edge of death… and then Aslan's breath fell upon him, and the burns melted away, and the venom vanished from within his veins, and he stood up. He bowed to the lion, retrieved his lance, and rejoined the fight.

Pete caught up to Aslan just as they reached the stone bridge over the river. "That was amazing," said Pete. "How in God's name are you able to do that?"

If a lion could smile, Aslan seemed to smile. "You have all the facts that you need to discern the truth. Use those vaunted powers of deduction you tout, and draw a logical conclusion."

"Well, you're not a shape-shifting lion, I'm pretty sure of that. And I don't think you're really a wizard either. So, you've got to be, like, a good spirit, or a demigod, or an angel in disguise. You're something like that, aren't you?"

"Something like that," said Aslan.

Then, from the south, Falon appeared, holding something large and ugly in his left hand, while the sword he bore in his right still dripped with black blood. When the hybrid came closer, Pete saw what it was: Falon bore a severed troll's head, which he held up by the tuft of scraggy hair on its brow.

"Where did you get that?" asked Pete.

"Took it from the troll," said Falon. "It was guarding the south tunnel. You should hope that General Penelope didn't run into one on the north side of the city as well."

Pete swallowed and had to agree. "I hope not."

"Come," said Aslan. "There is still one thing left to do. The enemy general awaits us in the fortress."

"Then let us invite him to come out," said Oreius with a wicked grin on his face. It was the most emotive that Pete had ever seen the centaur.

They moved up the avenue and approached the gates of the central fortress. Aslan stepped forward and bellowed, "Come forth, unclean spirit and minion of Jadis! Come forth, and meet your judgment!"

The doors to the fortress were made of riveted steel, with iron rings for handles. It would have ordinarily taken four or five centaurs to move one of those doors, but now, a single hand pushed them ajar from within. It was a red had, with sharpened black nails; and it was large, but closer in size to a troll's than a giant's. Then the massive doors swung all the way open, and the ten-foot-tall figure emerged from the shadows within. Now here, Pete realized, was the very figure of a devil from Western myth. His skin was bright red, and he had two great horns, curved like a ram's, on the top of his head. His maw was filled with sharp teeth, and flame flashed in his eyes. From the waist down, he was hairy, and his feet were cloven—like a faun, but a monstrous and aberrant imitation of one. A red tail with a spike on the end whipped back and forth behind him. He spoke: "I am Tartarucles, General of Her Majesty's armies in the Midlands of Narnia. Why do you come here and attack my city without provocation, O Lion of the East?"

"Be silent," Aslan commanded. At once, Tartarucles found that he could no longer speak—though from the look on his face, it was clear that he desperately wished to. Aslan continued, "Surrender. Order your soldiers to lay down their arms and give themselves up. Only when these are your next words will your voice be returned to you."

But the demon wouldn't have this. He gnashed his teeth and held out his claws and lunged bodily at Aslan. The great lion snarled and pounced, and in a move so dexterous and rapid that it could have been a blur to Pete's eyes, he tore out the throat of the demon called Tartarucles. In that one fell exchange, Jadis's general of the Midlands was slain.

* * *

With the sudden death of the devilish general, the rest of the forces defending Beruna fell apart. Many surrendered; many fled. Those that were able to escape the town headed for the hills to the north and west, in the direction of Table Hill, where it was said that the White Witch had another army camped.

Centaurs loyal to Aslan were overjoyed to reclaim their ancestral city again. Beruna, they vowed, would be strong and beautiful once more. Aslan would be remembered always, and the White Witch soon forgotten. Creon, who was eldest among the centaurs and therefore their most respected chief, had high praise for Count Peter and General Oreius, who were largely credited with the success of the attack.

Pete wondered at this, for Penelope had played her part as well, and she was Creon's own daughter. That set Pete to wondering where Penelope was… and in one dread moment, he came to fear the worst. In the aftermath of the battle, Pete learned that Penelope's company had been hit hard by a troll. He ran here and there among the loosely aggregated groups of dwarves and fauns, centaurs and beasts. He searched for familiar faces. Then he found Phineas, who was holding a crying Cynthia in his arms.

"Cynthia," said Pete, "what happened? Where's Penelope?"

The nymph looked up from Phineas with puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks and shook her head at Peter. "I don't know," she said. "Nobody can find her. She's been lost."


	45. Chapter 45

PETE felt his heart sink into his chest. This could not be happening! He couldn't lose another person who was so important—so necessary—to his mission in Narnia; to his continued sanity; and to his life. If Penelope were to die, Pete could not see himself carrying on as before. It would simply be too much. Death would seem to lurk around every corner, waiting to take away anybody that he grew close to. Anybody he foolishly allowed himself to care about.

After the battle, Pete had led a search along the banks of the Rush River north of Beruna. He assumed that if Penelope had fallen here and become lost, she would have been swept downstream with the current. Sure enough, they found her washed onto the banks, several hundreds of yards north of the city walls. But she had a grievous wound and one punctured lung, and she was barely alive. A few other centaurs—all of them from her old company, the rebels that had deserted the far western garrison with her—helped Pete to bear Penelope back to the city. Beruna's centaurs, it seemed, still wanted nothing to do with her.

And now Penelope rested comfortably on a bed of straw and linens, beneath a large tent that had been erected solely for the purpose of housing and tending to the wounded. She hadn't regained consciousness. Pete stood watch over her, and he saw her labored breathing, and he knew that he would do anything in his power to save her life.

He exited the tent.

Oreius waited outside. "How is she?" he asked.

"You care? That's really touching," said Pete evenly.

"She is my mate!" said Oreius. "And whether she has ever wanted me or not, I have always…" he paused, looked around, and said to Peter in a conspiratorial tone, "I have always cared about her well-being."

"Then you should go in there and see for yourself," said Pete. "She's in bad shape. I'm going to go find Aslan." Then he put his hand on Oreius's shoulder and said, "Hey, at least you're here. Where's her dad?"

"Creon will not come," said Oreius. "He is our chieftain, and Penelope has rejected our ways. If Creon makes an exception for his daughter, it reflects poorly on his position."

Pete was aghast. "Politics? That's why he won't come and stand by his own daughter? Good Lord, what's the matter with you people?"

Oreius sighed. "You do not understand our ways. To a centaur, honor is everything, and yet my mate has willfully trampled hers under-hoof. I wish…" He looked Pete in the eye and said with dead sincerity, "I wish that she were a better centaur."

Pete said, "You're wrong. She's the _best_ of you." Then he stormed off to find the great lion.

* * *

Aslan returned to the medical tent with Pete. He had been out on the battlefield, doing everything in his power to heal the injured and wounded. There were many more here who were also on the brink of death, so it mattered little to Aslan where he worked—eventually, he would get around to everyone and help all that he could.

"In here," said Peter, leading Aslan to Penelope's bedside.

The lion stalked around Peter and looked down on Penelope. He seemed to be deep in thought.

"Can you save her?" asked Pete.

"Yes," said Aslan, "but not for you."

"I don't care what for, as long as you save her."

Aslan nodded. Then he let his breath fall upon the centauress, and her wound began to close.

Pete blinked the tears from his eyes. "Thanks," he said.

"Remember my words," said the lion. Then he continued throughout the tent, healing all of the remaining wounded here, before he went back out onto the battlefield.

Pete was in no mood to ponder riddles. He just stood by Penelope's side, waiting for her to awaken.

* * *

In the streets of Beruna, a celebration carried on. Entertainers, musicians, and purveyors of rich foods and drinks went everywhere, and most of the soldiers who fought for Aslan and the rebellion were gladdened by this festivity. It took the edge off of the darkness and ugliness that was so recent in their memories. Still, many a faun or dwarf or centaur could be seen brooding, thinking, or wondering that their fellows could stand to partake in a festival when so many of their comrades-in-arms yet lay dead on the fields outside the broken city-walls.

Creon had ordered the celebration to commemorate Beruna's liberation.

That chieftain of the centaurs, who many now called the Mayor of Beruna, sought out Pete. Four well-armed centaur knights, ostensibly his aides and protectors, followed behind. When Creon learned that the human who called himself Count of the Eastlands was in the medical tent and staying with his daughter, he marched straight there with unshaken purpose.

"Count Peter," he said, entering the large tent along with his escort, "I am told that Aslan has healed my daughter."

"Yes he has," said Pete. "You should be thankful."

"Oh, I am," said Creon. "It means that she will be able to leave with the others when you march for Table Hill on the morrow."

Pete's jaw dropped. He turned to face the elderly centaur and met him eye-to-eye. "If taking _General_ Penelope out of here means getting her away from folks like you, I'm glad to do it. The sooner the better, in fact."

"I could not agree more," said Creon. "I can already tell that you will be a just and wise High King."

"Can you?" said Pete. "What's your problem, anyway?"

"Penelope has denied me my rights as her father, and she has defied tradition once too often," said Creon. "As the daughter of a chieftain, she should have known better. She should have been obedient, like her sisters, and acceded to my will. It was her place to set the best example. Instead, she has become the worst."

Pete stared contemptuously at Creon and said, "Get out of my face."

"Ordering me? You aren't king quite yet, Son of Adam," said Creon. But, nevertheless, he signaled to his knights, and the five centaurs left the tent.

Pete stood alone and marveled at what had just happened. "Holy crap on a cracker," he whispered. It was all too much.

* * *

And so Pete waited on into the night. Brenawen and Lumpkin came to visit in the evening, and they sat with Penelope and talked with Pete for an hour or so before they left. Falon came as well, but he only exchanged a few brief words with Pete, paid his due respects to the wounded general, and took his leave. Then the human was alone again, and eventually, even the nurses caring for the other wounded departed. Now Pete was all by himself, if you didn't count the sleeping and comatose patients that filled his surroundings.

Sometime after midnight, Penelope stirred. Then she awakened, blinked her eyes open, and saw Pete smiling down upon her. He came forward excitedly and said, "Penny! You're okay."

"Peter," she murmured. "I don't feel okay."

"You'll live, though. Aslan healed you."

The centauress smiled. "Aslan. It comforts me to know that he's with us."

Seconds passed by in silence. Penelope closed her eyes and rested back on the mat of straw. Then she opened her eyes again and said to Pete, "You're still here?"

"Didn't want to leave your side," said Pete.

"That's silly," said the centauress. "You just told me I'm going to be fine."

"Yeah… but, I have something else I need to tell you." Pete felt his cheeks grow warm, and he knew that he must have been blushing fiercely. But this was no time to lose courage. "I'm just going to go for broke and spit it out."

"Well? Out with it, then," said Penelope.

"I think I love you."

Penelope looked up at Pete in shock. Then she giggled. "I must be dreaming. Either that, or you're playing a very cruel joke."

"I'm completely serious," said Pete.

Penelope shook her head. "We've been over this, Peter. It couldn't work. We're too different."

"What, you mean that whole person/beast thing again? Excuse me if I don't buy into the received line of bigotry that you Narnians are so obsessed with, but it's going to be a cold day in hell before I believe that you're somehow 'lesser' than me."

Penelope fought to turn over on her side, grunted from the exertion, and propped her human torso up with her arms. "You deny that the difference between us is very great?"

"You know that I do."

"That's very noble," said Penelope, "but answer me this: if I were a talking horse, rather than a centaur, would we be having this conversation?"

"Hell no," said Pete. "But that's moot. You're _not_ a talking horse. You _are_ a centaur. That makes you at least half human, and it's human enough for me." He gently brushed Penelope's hair away from her cheek and caressed the side of her face. "Thank goodness it's the top half, too, because that lets me do this." He leaned down and softly kissed her lips.

Penelope pressed into the kiss and seemed to luxuriate in the sensation for just a moment… but then she pulled away and said, "No. I won't be this for you."

Pete was confused. "Be what?"

"Your second choice," said Penelope. "Would we be having this conversation… if Queen Taraiel were still alive?"

"That's not fair," said Pete. "I don't know where we would be if that were the case."

"Be honest," said Penelope.

"I don't know!" said Pete. "It didn't happen that way, so I don't know!"

"Then… we're done talking," said Penelope. "Please… leave me to rest. I'm going to need my strength tomorrow."

Pete pursed his lips together and fought to keep from exploding. Suddenly, he couldn't remember what he saw in Penelope that was so great. She was stubborn… and prideful… and she obviously didn't want him. "Fine," said Pete bitterly. "You know what? You win. I won't bug you anymore. But I know this much: Tara died. She was an elf, and she could've lived forever, but she died. It probably should've happened the other way around: we would've tried to make it work, but eventually, I'd get old and kick off, and then she'd be alone. Whatever happened, we were on the fast-track to a heartbreak. But, you know what? I would've wanted her to move on, find someone else, and be happy. And I know she'd want the same thing for me. So I moved on, and I put it behind me, and I let her go. Some of us have tomorrow to think about. I'll see you around, General."

Pete didn't look at Penelope again. He just left the tent. So he didn't see the tears that she struggled to hold back, and he never saw her give in and cry once she was alone. Penelope cursed her lot in life and rued the day that she had been born a centaur.

* * *

Pete was alone in his private tent. He tossed and turned on top of his bedroll, trying to find a comfortable position. Somehow, sleep continually evaded him. Every time he seemed about to drop off, he saw a face: Taraiel, Cliodhna, Jillian… He really couldn't take it anymore. Relationships and his life were oil and water. They didn't mix. And Pete was really done this time. He wouldn't even try anymore. He just couldn't take the thought of having his heart trampled on again. Narnia certainly didn't need a heartbroken king.

Then Pete heard singing outside the tent. _Drunken_ singing, of the off-key and none-too-pleasant variety. He opened his eyes and strained his ears and tried to recognize the voice, but he couldn't. So he rose from his bed, exited the tent, and looked around.

There was Phineas, stumbling left and right, an empty ale-mug in his hand. It appeared that he was heavily inebriated. "Lor' Pe'er," slurred the faun, "I's real good ta see you!" He stumbled forward (still managing to maintain that uncanny, mountain-goatish balance on his two hooves), threw his arm around Pete, and breathed the scent of spirits into the human's face.

"You're pissed," said Pete. "Smashed. Wasted. High."

"Intoxicated," agreed Phineas with a nod and a grin. "Intoffle-cated. Inflibber-gated… Peter! Something wonderf'l! Something fan… taftic has happened!"

"What's that, buddy?" said Pete, trying to help Phineas sit down on the ground.

The faun rolled back, kicked his hooves up into the air, and said, "Cynthia… my Cynthia… you know my beautiful Cynthia?"

"Sure, pal. What about Cynthia?"

Phineas was about to say something, but then he turned pale and a little green in the face. He twisted to one side and vomited, which caused Pete to wrinkle his nose in disgust. Phineas wiped off his mouth with the side of the ale-mug, stared down confusedly at the puddle of filth, and then smiled and said, "She did _that_."

"She did what? Puked?"

Phineas grinned dumbly and nodded. "Y'know what that means?"

"Uh… she's drunk too?"

Phineas suddenly became angry and tried to stand up, but he couldn't. So he fell back down again and sat cross-legged. "She'd better not! Can't drink like this when you're wif' child. Not good for the baby."

Pete's eyes widened. "Cynthia… is having a baby? She's _pregnant_?"

Phineas nodded and offered Pete the spew-soiled mug. "Yes! My buddy, this is cause to celebrate… to celebrate, and… and… have a drink or two! Or ten!"

"I think you're all done celebrating," said Pete. "Come on, Finny, ol' pal, let's get you put to bed." As Pete helped Phineas to rise, he added, "By the way… congratulations, 'dad.'"


	46. Chapter 46

TABLE Hill was an unusual feature of Narnia's geography. On the western edge of the central pains, this lone hill rose from the ground like a gigantic upside-down bowl. At the top of the hill, a ring of stones—a henge, really—surrounded a flat slab of stone, an ancient altar of sorts that dated back to the Elder Days. This was the Stone Table, an artifact that was said to be inscribed with incantations of the Deep Magic itself. Not pleas and requests to the Deep Magic, like the bard-songs of the sea-people, but true invocations that summoned the very Power of Narnia.

Jadis had kept the Stone Table well-guarded for nine-hundred years. It used to be that a path of solid ice and packed snow, ideal for sleighs and sleds, ran between Table Hill and Jadis's own icy palace in the northwest. An army could travel between the two locations in a week. But no more: for Pete had sat in the throne, and the spell of endless winter was gone. It was only the height of autumn yet, and the first frost of the next natural winter hadn't formed. With green grass and brown leaves carpeting the land, Jadis's army wasn't likely going anywhere. They waited at Table Hill: the White Witch's last bastion of military strength in Narnia.

Aslan led his people in a great convoy through the wilderness. The army had everything they needed to transfer their camp to a new location. Many had remained behind in Beruna: the wounded who weren't hale enough to travel yet; centaurs who wished to see their city restored; and a detachment of dwarves and fauns who waited there in reserve, to help guard the freed city and the surrendered enemy soldiers. For the most part, though, the whole host of loyal Narnians followed Aslan. Victory seemed at hand, and they were eager to see it through to the end.

Phineas, once he had sobered and paid for his binge with a fearsome hangover, had begged Cynthia to remain in Beruna; but the dryad simply wouldn't have it. She set out for Table Hill along with Phineas, Pete, and everybody else. "I'm with child, not dying!" she pronounced. "And I'm not that far along yet!"

"Very well, but you'll not risk anymore scouting or fighting!" Phineas insisted. "You must remain with the camp from this moment forth."

Cynthia tried to protest and argue for her usefulness, but Pete agreed. "It's too dangerous. I can't let you put the kid at risk, Kiddo. Phineas would never forgive me."

Cynthia didn't like it, but she assented to their wishes at last.

"By the way," Pete asked while they marched, "I never asked, can you tell whether the kid will be an ordinary faun or nymph, or some kind of hybrid, like Falon?"

"Oh, it will be a faun, no doubt," said Cynthia. "Whenever a dryad has a child, it always belongs to the father's race." Her condition hadn't even begun to show yet, but she kept her hand on her belly as she spoke of children.

"Uh… okay," said Pete. "Then… where do baby dryads come from?"

Cynthia seemed at a loss to explain. Then, after thinking about it, she said, "Young dryads are only born to hamadryads who mate with a Hidden One."

"What's a Hidden One?" asked Pete.

"They are the males of my race," said Cynthia.

"I didn't think that there were guy nymphs."

"There aren't. But after a certain age—many centuries, I mean—dryads change. We don't grow old and die as you do. We transform—into hamadryads. We become more like trees."

Pete blinked. "You're going to turn into a tree?"

"Someday," said Cynthia. "And I won't really be a tree. I'll just look like one. I'll still be me."

"But… you'll have roots, and bark, and leaves?"

"Yes," said the nymph. "And if a Hidden One comes along, a male tree that speaks and moves—"

"Oh!" said Pete. "Like an ent!"

"Um… I don't know what an 'ent' is," said Cynthia, "but the Hidden Ones are like awakened trees. And if one of them chooses me for a mate, then I will be able to have dryad children."

"So, for now, you and Finny will only have little fauns for kids," said Pete. "They'll all be half kid, and half… well, kid."

"Very amusing," said Phineas with a roll of his eyes. "Though I'm not sure that I appreciate this frank discussion regarding all of the many children that Cynthia will have in the centuries following my eventual demise."

Cynthia giggled and planted a kiss on Phineas's button-nose. "Silly Finny," she said. "As long as I'm still a dryad, you know that I'll only love you. You and our children."

"So," said Pete to Phineas, "are you going to make an honest woman out of her yet, or do you both still mean to wait until the war is over?"

"We'll wed when we return to Cair Paravel," said Cynthia. "Once a crown sits upon your head, Count Peter, then Phineas can put a bridal wreath on mine."

* * *

The army of the rebellion made camp on the fields beneath Table Hill. All of the tents were pitched quickly, and the soldiers unpacked the gear and supplies. They needed to be ready for battle on a moment's notice—there was no telling how soon the forces of Jadis would come sweeping out of the enemy camp to attack them.

Yet, the next morning, though the White Witch's camp could be seen across the open field at the foot of the great hill, her soldiers there did not array themselves for an attack. Instead, a small party of furry quadrupeds could be seen making their way out of the opposite camp and coming towards that of Aslan and the rebels. As they neared, Pete could make out fur of gray and white. And then he saw what kinds of animals they were: a pack of wolves, running in escort of a white-furred polar bear. Not long after that, a speck of white and blue and black on the back of the polar bear resolved itself into something else altogether: a woman, riding upon its back.

She was a stately woman, ageless and beautiful, and she rode side-saddle (for the bear had both saddle and bridle). Her hair was dark, like raven-feathers, and she wore a crown of gold. A silver wand rested in the crook her arm, cradled there like a precious babe, while with her other hand she held the reins of the great bear.

"Who the heck is that?" asked Pete.

Aslan circled around the human from behind and said, "That is Jadis, the White Witch herself."

Pete felt his heart thudding in his chest. This was Jadis? Their Enemy, right here, and in the flesh? He was about to stand face-to-face with his long-unseen adversary, a powerful witch who had tried time and again to have Pete killed? He felt sweat forming on his forehead, and his hands shook. Slowly, he reached for one of his pistols.

Aslan growled softly and said, "Do not. She comes here under a truce, and we will not show such duplicity as to break it."

The wolves ran in circles around the queen, slobbering and snapping their jaws. They cleared a path for the polar bear steed, and the rebel Narnians gave Jadis's lackeys a wide berth. The White Witch tugged on her reins, pulling the bear to a rough halt. Then she gracefully leapt out of the saddle, looked directly at Pete, and smiled—poignantly ignoring Aslan all the while. Yes, the queen was beautiful to look at, but she was cold and stern, and her eyes were empty. (Even Jada had had the glimmer of a soul in her, Pete realized now; but Jadis was devoid of anything human, save her womanlike appearance). With a voice that oozed seduction and seemed to promise all the delights and knowledge of the world, she said, "Peter, dear! It's so good to meet you at last! I've heard so much about your heroic deeds and exploits that I feel as if I know you already. Why, we're practically good friends."

Pete nodded approvingly. "Not bad. Have you heard the one about the priest, the midget, and the transvestite who walk into a bar?"

Jadis broadened her smile. "Ah. That must be the famous Pevensie wit that I've heard so much about. I must confess my disappointment; I was expecting to be impressed."

"That's only because I haven't used my best material yet," said Pete. "I must've been thinking about that one joke, where the human from New York screwed over your slave-trading deal with the Terebinthians." Pete snapped his fingers. "Wait, I know! How about the one where he got rid of your vampire, took over Cair Paravel, and sat in the High King's Throne? Somebody, please, stop me if you've heard these before."

Jadis's composure faltered, but only for a millisecond. She cleared her throat, plastered that condescending smile on her face again, and said, "Yes, you did defeat my champion. Cair Paravel, at least, is rightfully yours, O magnificent—"

Pete interrupted again. "You know what's really magnificent? The fact that I haven't shot you, and that it's only because Aslan asked me to be nice and hear you out."

The witch suddenly glared at Aslan, acknowledging him for the first time. She smiled coyly at the lion and purred, "Good kitty."

Aslan growled. "Did you have a point in coming here, _witch_ , or do you mean to banter with empty words until Dünya's sun turns old and red?"

Jadis feigned hurt. "But I do so enjoy these pleasantries," she sighed. "Oh, well. We shall dispense with the sport and move onto business, then. First, I've come with an offer for Peter the Conqueror, rightful Count of the Eastlands."

Pete snorted. "This ought to be good."

"I assure you, it's _very_ good," said Jadis. "My beloved daughter, Princess Jada, Duchess of the Northlands—whose holdings adjoin yours, Peter, via the Ettinsmoor—has locked herself away in her palace. She refuses to see or be seen by anyone. She pines for you, dear Peter, and I believe her to be in love. So I've come to negotiate on her behalf."

"Negotiate what?" said Pete.

"A marriage proposal, of course. Take my daughter's hand, Count Peter, and all this messy war can come to an end. You will have Jada for your wife eternal, and you will be Duke of the Northlands and Crown Prince of all Narnia."

Pete gaped. Then he snickered. Then the snickers became snorts, and the snorts became guffaws, and the guffaws gave chuckles the slip and passed straight onto rip-roarious laughter. "Now _that's_ comedy," chortled Pete. "Congrats, Witchiepoo. You win the Oscar for 'funniest line ever spoken in Narnia by leading villain.' But… I'm going to have to say no to your generous, bullshit offer. Because, jeez, lady, you've got even bigger nads than Queen Morrigan to try and pull that one again! Brownie points for sheer moxie, though."

Jadis stood stock-still and frowned in the face of Pete's mockery. "You refuse, then?"

"Uh, I hate to break this to you, but Jada already tried the 'tempting devil's bargain' routine. Been there, done that, got the frigging t-shirt."

"Very well," said Jadis. "Princess Jada will be ever so disappointed when she hears of this. To the next matter, then. I had hoped that it wouldn't have to come to this…"

"You try my patience, Queen of Narnia," rumbled Aslan.

Unperturbed, Jadis continued, "As you know, the Deep Magic from Before the Dawn of Time grants a special privilege to the race of witches. Traitors, betrayers, and breakers of sacred oaths—they belong to me. They are my prey, to torment and destroy in the name of right and fitting justice."

Aslan growled again, even more deeply this time. "I know the Deep Magic as you never will, witch. So don't even bother accusing the human—the only one he ever slighted was me, and I've already given him absolution for it."

Jadis seemed surprised by this, but she recovered quickly. "As you say. Lumpkin the dwarf, then—"

"Nice try," cut in Pete, "but he only _tried_ to sell me out. Then he turned the tables and saved my ass."

"I refer, of course, to the cause of his exile," said Jadis. "He broke an oath made before his whole people when he taught forbidden knowledge to a Black Dwarf."

Aslan said, "Lumpkin made another oath, one more sacred because it was spoken in my name, when he bound himself to that Black Dwarf in marriage. Past, present, or future, he is held to no promise more important than that—not even a promise to keep old secrets."

When Aslan said this, a cheer rose up from among the Red Dwarves in his army, for they hailed Lumpkin and Brenawen as their rulers, and they wouldn't stand to see their king accused by the witch.

Pete smirked. "Good luck finding one Red Dwarf in this crowd who thinks Lumpkin is a traitor to his people. Anymore bright ideas, Your Majesty?"

Jadis sneered at Peter and said, "Yes, in fact I have." Then she uttered the one name that Pete was praying she wouldn't: "Penelope of Beruna."

"No way," said Pete. "Not a snowball's chance am I gonna let you take Penny for some spooky Deep Magic trick!"

"It's no trick!" said Jadis. As she spoke, Penelope came forth from the rebels' ranks, and Oreius followed closely behind her. The witch continued, "The Deep Magic knows only right and wrong, just and unjust, innocence and guilt. It _demands_ the blood of the guilty—and if does not get what it demands, then all of Dünya must be unmade, and it will perish in fire and water!"

Pete turned to Aslan. "Is this true?"

Aslan nodded. "The witch speaks the truth. The justice of the Deep Magic is perfect and inviolate. It brooks no sin, no matter how venial."

"How can you call that 'perfect,' if it demands the death of good people who make one mistake?" shouted Pete.

Aslan said nothing, but looked at Pete sadly.

Pete sighed. "All right," he said to Jadis, "what do you think Penelope's done?"

"She was a soldier in my army," said Jadis. "She—"

"Got shanghaied by your people," said Pete. "Duress. Doesn't count."

"But when she left Beruna in the first place," said Jadis, "she was yet bound to another. She reneged on an oath to her family, and to this brave warrior." She indicated Oreius, who cast his eyes to the ground.

Penelope shook her head. "There was no oath! I owe my people nothing!"

"Speak, Orieus," said Jadis. "Tell us whether or not you feel betrayed by your wife, who deserted you and fought for me—and who now follows not you, but the Son of Adam."

The centaur looked to Penelope, to Pete, to Aslan.

"Don't you dare," hissed Pete.

Oreius spoke, and his voice was laced with shame. "Jadis speaks the truth. Penelope has betrayed me, and she has betrayed her father. I love her, but so help me, it's the truth."

Pete turned to Aslan and said, "Stop this! Can't you see that it's all just a scam to get at us and mess with our heads? Isn't there anything you can do?"

Aslan nodded. "Yes, something can be done. Another can stand in place of the traitor and pay for her crime."

"What?" said Pete. Then he looked at Penelope… and he knew what he had to do.

Penelope saw the look in Pete's eyes, and she recognized it at once. It was that damned nobility of his, coming to the fore again. "No, Peter!" she said. "Don't you speak one word; don't you take one step! _I_ have done these things. _I_ must pay for them."

"It's not right," said Pete through gritted teeth. "It's not fair."

"Life rarely is," cooed the White Witch. "Come, lady centaur. We must bring you to the Stone Table."

"Wait," said Aslan. The lion turned to Pete and said, "Do you remember what I told you when we first met, when we spoke of your destiny and Queen Jadis?"

Pete nodded. "You said that I wouldn't be the one to kill her."

"Remember that," said Aslan, "and have faith. Jadis," he growled, now facing the witch, "you will not touch the centaur. She is dear to someone who is dear to me, and so another will stand in her place."

"But, who?" asked Jadis. "Who can possibly match the value of a traitor like her in the eyes of the Deep Magic?"

"I will," said Aslan.

Cries of shock and horror and "No!" and "Aslan!" echoed all around. Pete stared at the lion, wishing that he had the courage to step up and take his place; but he knew that no one else there would let him. There had to be a Son of Adam to rule after Jadis.

Penelope was horrified and humbled. She simply couldn't fathom why Aslan would sacrifice himself for her pitiful sake. But, she supposed, if he was doing it for Peter…

The White Witch smiled. "Done."


	47. Chapter 47

ASLAN had commanded his people not to follow, and so they remained in the camp. Even Pete couldn't muster the heart to defy this last order of Aslan's. The human knew that if he had asked it of the Narnians, they might have gathered their arms and marched on Table Hill to force Jadis to give Aslan up. But Pete couldn't bring himself to go against Aslan's wishes. So they watched. The view from the rebels' camp wasn't much to speak of. It was impossible to make out the Stone Table itself, or to tell what was going on—but when night fell, they saw the lights of many torches, and they heard eerie noises—chanting, and the beating of drums, and mocking chatter. This cacophony drifted down over the plains, rising to a crescendo at midnight exactly, before it stopped. Silence ruled for a minute—and then the ranks of the Enemy erupted in jubilance and celebration.

And when morning came again, Aslan did not return to them.

* * *

If Penelope had been shunned before, she was positively ostracized now. Nobody would speak with her—none of the knights from her company, none of her former traveling companions, not Oreius, not Pete. She was left alone to brood by herself and to wallow in self-imposed misery and self-loathing cowardice. She couldn't understand: why would Aslan give himself up to save her? For Peter's sake, obviously. But she still wasn't worth that much in the grand scheme of things. If her life wasn't worth Peter's, it certainly wasn't worth Aslan's.

* * *

When dawn came, and Aslan never reappeared, Pete gathered several of his officers to him: Oreius, Phineas, Falon, Lumpkin, and Brenawen. He hadn't slept all night. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and he scowled more than usual. "I think Aslan's gone," said Pete.

"Impossible," said Falon. "Can't be. He's Aslan."

"Whatever he was, he's not here," said Pete. "We need to deal with Jadis ourselves."

"Where's Penelope?" asked Oreius.

"Don't know," said Pete. "And right now, I don't much care. So, General Oreius, you're going to work with Colonels Falon and Brenawen, and you're going to devise our battle-plan. We've got to take that hill. In the meantime, everybody else who stayed up all night, like yours truly did: take what rest you can. We'll attack as soon as we can—at dusk."

* * *

The mood in the camp was beyond somber. With Aslan gone, it seemed as if their hopes for victory had already been dashed. The scouts who had been sent to spy on the enemy camp returned, and their news was dire. This army of Jadis's was composed almost entirely of fearsome monsters: trolls and manticores, harpies and hags, chimerae and cerberi, devils and dragons. Even with Pete's artillery, nobody had much hope of defeating an army like that. But still, they had to try. This was the last battle. All of Jadis's strength was gathered on that hill, and Pete and all his Narnian allies were camped right here. This confrontation would have to decide the fate of Narnia.

* * *

At high noon, the witch's camp stirred. Something else came forth from among the enemy: a chariot, drawn by a manticore and a three-headed cerberus dog. Nobody drove the chariot, but something tied with ropes dragged behind it. The Narnians couldn't tell what it was… until it crossed the field at the foot of Table Hill and approached their own camp.

Pete was roused from his restless mid-morning attempt at sleep by a couple of faun soldiers. They took him from his tent and brought him before General Oreius and the other officers. They were gathered on the edge of the camp, watching the chariot draw near. Even from here, Pete could see what it was dragging through the dust: the corpse of a lion.

Pete shut his eyes tightly. It had happened, then. Jadis had killed Aslan to appease the Deep Magic. Pete silently cursed whatever unknown supernatural being it was that had woven such a fell and bloodthirsty power into the fabric of this universe. Aslan had been strict, and strange, and cryptic, and distant… but he had been good. He had cared. He had loved his people enough to sacrifice his own life for one of them. And it had been a half-beast that Aslan had given himself up for: one of the supposed "lesser" races. Perhaps, Pete thought, he had misjudged Aslan and his Emperor. Maybe they cared about all the races of this world, and it was the Narnians themselves who had misinterpreted things. Oh, well. Whatever the truth, it was pointless now. Aslan was dead.

But Penelope… thinking about her left a sour taste in Pete's mouth. Oh, to be sure, he didn't believe for one second that she was guilty of any kind of betrayal. But she had been awfully quick to step aside when Aslan had offered up his own life for hers. And to think, Pete had been prepared to do the same.

Now the chariot came to a halt, and the two monstrous beasts simply stood still and waited. They didn't attack; whether or not they could speak, they didn't say anything. They just waited for the Narnians to approach and retrieve Aslan's body.

Pete nodded, and he and Oreius and Falon and Phineas went out onto the field to go get him.

What they found when they got there made Pete sick to his stomach. Aslan had been shorn of all his fur, and there were marks from whips and blades on his skin. He had been humiliated and tortured before his death.

"He didn't deserve this," said Pete.

"No," agreed Oreius. "He did not."

Pete approached the body to untie it from the chariot. As soon as he undid the knots, the manticore and the cerberus took off at a run and pulled the chariot away from the rebel camp, back toward the witch's ranks. Pete didn't care. He wasn't paying any attention to the monsters or the chariot. He was staring at a scrap of parchment which had been grotesquely pinned to one of Aslan's paws. With shaking hands, he pulled it free. Scrawled on the parchment was a single word: _"Predictable."_

* * *

That afternoon, Penelope finally worked up the courage to go find Peter. The human was standing in front of a great cairn of rocks, which he had ordered piled over Aslan's body to serve as the lion's tomb. The centauress approached Pete from behind and cleared her throat.

Pete glanced back her. "What do you want, General?"

Penelope's voice was weak, almost a whisper. "Actually, I wish to resign my commission. Nobody would follow me as a general now. They all blame me for Aslan's death."

"Yes they do," said Pete. "And I accept your resignation."

Penelope swallowed and choked back a sob. "You blame me as well?"

Pete didn't say anything for a long while. Then he said, "No. No, not really. The witch could've decided to go after any one of us. It could've been me, it could've been Lumpkin, but it just so happened that she played you for the patsy." He held up the parchment scrap which he had taken off of Aslan's body. "Jadis was just toying with all of us. She set us up, and we fell for it."

Penelope shook her head and said, "This is all my fault. I've betrayed my own kind, and Aslan paid the price!"

Pete didn't reply to that. He just stared at the makeshift tomb. Somehow, it didn't seem worthy of the fallen lion.

Finally, Penelope said, "Peter… I saw it in your eyes. When Jadis wanted to take me. You were ready to offer yourself in my place, and… I just want to say…"

"Don't, Penny," said Pete. "Really don't."

"Please, listen," said the centauress. "I've… I've thought a great deal about what you said to me before, after Beruna. And perhaps I was short with you. I might have been wrong to cast aside your feelings so quickly."

Pete just shook his head. "Perhaps? Might have? Maybe you should have thought about that before you shot me out of the saddle!"

"But… I need to tell you, Peter… about how I feel…" Confused and distraught, she leaned in close to Peter and tried to embrace him.

"Oh, that's rich!" said the human, pushing her away. "You stepped on my heart, and now you want a second chance? No; I don't think so. You had your chance, and you blew me off."

"You said that you loved me," said Penelope, letting the tears flow freely now.

"And you were less than enthused," said Pete. "What was the matter? Afraid that a puny little human wouldn't measure up to a male from your own species?"

Penelope was shocked into silence.

"You know, now that I think about it, I can't imagine what must've been going through my head," said Pete. "Because, trust me on this, I wouldn't touch that furry backside of yours with a ten-foot pole."

The centauress wiped her eyes and tried to maintain some of her dignity in the face of Pete's insulting vulgarity; but it was a lost cause. "Tell me," she said, her voice cracking, "why is it that only you, Peter, have the power to hurt me with nothing but your words?"

Pete shrugged. "Don't know. Don't care. But I can see that you need some time to pull yourself together. And who can blame you? Between your father… and your _husband_ … and Aslan giving himself up to _die_ for you… I can see how that would screw somebody up _real_ good."

"I see," said Penelope, nodding and blinking away the tears. "You've made yourself quite clear, Lord Peter. I'm glad that I no longer serve you as an officer. And I shan't risk disgusting you again with my unwanted advances."

"Just so we're clear," said Pete.

When Penelope left him, she seemed on the brink of an emotional breakdown. And Pete really didn't feel a thing.

* * *

Evening came, and the Narnians marched to battle. They arrayed themselves in great ranks and columns, and they crossed the open field. At the foot of Table Hill, the soldiers of Jadis lined up in opposition. There were great packs of foul beasts: lion-like manticores and triple-headed hell-dogs. There were whole regiments of trolls, armed with naught but their hide and their claws, for that was all they needed to be fearsome forces of slaughter on the battlefield. Overhead, there flew flocks of harpies and huge, red-scaled dragons that breathed gouts of flaming breath. And down on the ground, here and there among the lesser troops, great horn-headed and red-skinned devils stalked between the columns and barked orders in some guttural, occult tongue.

Jadis herself was not seen among these warriors. Instead, she waited at the top of the hill, standing on the Stone Table in presupposed triumph. Her army was the greater by far: Pete and his forces had no chance. She knew it, and she only needed to wait for the inevitable end.

Pete had learned a tough lesson in Beruna: running into battle on foot while wearing armor was a tiring prospect. So now he sat astride a brown stallion, a talking horse by the name of Phillip. Pete wasn't all that skilled at fighting from horseback, but he figured that Phillip would be smart enough to guide himself, and Pete could just focus on combat. Oreius stood at his side, and he awaited Pete's permission. Penelope was there as well, in spite of the harsh words that had lately passed between them. She might have given up her command, but she wasn't about to shirk the battle. Elsewhere, Phineas and Falon stood among the ranks, and Lumpkin and Brenawen stood ready to command the guns.

Pete nodded to Oreius, and the centaur general shouted the order. He leveled his lance and charged, and the other knights followed him up the hill. Then came the animals and the fauns and the elves and the nymphs, bringing teeth and claws and muskets and swords and bows. Brenawen called for cannon to fire, and thunder rocked the hillside.

The trolls charged into the fray and swept rebel soldiers aside in droves. Manticores breathed fire from the ground, and dragons strafed with flame from the air. Harpies rained down arrows. The devils, Jadis's commanders, charged gleefully into the mêlée and slew without compunction, for they were impervious to ordinary weapons—not because their hide was tough, like the trolls, but because they were infernal creatures with nothing to fear from any mortal attack. Fauns and centaurs, dwarves and nymphs, elves and beasts… many died, and quickly—and this time, many wounded would join them before the night was out, since Aslan would not be there to heal them. Dragons swooped down from the sky and broke apart the brass cannon, sending the dwarven artillerists scurrying for cover. The power of Jadis was overwhelming, and all was surely lost.

But something strange happened when the sun finally dropped all the way down beneath the horizon, and blackest night fell at last.

A lone figure appeared on the northeast corner of the battlefield. He wore black armor, and he carried an iron sword. He walked toward the hill, making directly for the unholy and terrible soldiers of Jadis. He accelerated to a jog, and then to a run, and then he sprinted at the witch's army… and as he ran, he seemed to multiply. Another man appeared next to him, and then another, and then several more… but these weren't armored. Their exposed skins were wrinkled and desiccated, like ancient corpses. Out of the very night itself, cold mist coalesced into the shapes of the undead, those frightful monsters with the semblance of human beings. They crashed into the witch's army's easternmost flank, and they swept through the ranks, killing with ease.

From atop the Stone Table, Jadis could be heard shouting orders in a language that only her devils seemed to understand. As she commanded her officers from afar, the undead brought down manticores and cerberi and trolls without suffering very many casualties at all. Only the dragons and the demons, it seemed, possessed sufficient strength to destroy the soldiers of Sir Baelin—for this, indeed, was the Black Knight who had so suddenly come upon the battle and turned the tide against Jadis.

Responding to the orders of their queen, the devils and the dragons and all the other enemy soldiers turned their attention to the undead. They breathed and burned and hacked and bit, and Sir Baelin's corpse-foe responded in kind, shooting and cutting and draining the very life-force away from those that they touched. As the battle dragged on, the Narnian rebels pressed the fight, but they mattered little by this point: nearly half of the rebels had fallen already, and the soldiers of Jadis and Baelin were intent on destroying each other.

Pete, astride his steed Phillip, kept pace with the centaurs. He made sure that Oreius and Penelope were at his side always. They fought fiercely, beating off the great monsters of Jadis as best they were able; but one by one, the centaur knights who followed them were slain or wounded, and fell away from the charge. At last, they three alone won through the line and found themselves on the slope of Table Hill. Nothing stood between them and Jadis… except Sir Baelin, who was running up the hillside on foot, shouting out the name of the White Witch.

"Jadis!" he cried. "Jadis, I've come for you! Your doom is upon you at last, O fiend! O foul, corrupt thing! Jadis, you witch, I owe you my vengeance!"

"There!" shouted Pete. "Go after him!" He spurred Phillip, which the horse rather resented. But the steed ran after Sir Baelin anyway, bearing Pete as fast as he could manage. Penelope and Oreius followed.

The Black Knight made it to the top of the hill. Jadis stood alone atop the altar to the Deep Magic. "Baelin, my love," she said. "It's been so long. Seven centuries, at least."

"A pox on your false words!" said the knight. "You shall not tempt me again!"

Pete reined Phillip to a halt behind Baelin, and he leapt down from the horse and ran up to him. "Sir Baelin! Wait!"

The Black Knight spun around and saw Peter, Oreius, and Penelope. "Peter!" said Baelin. "Stay back! The White Witch is _mine_!"

"We can help," said Pete, taking up his sword in two hands. "But if you want last crack at her, be my guest."

Jadis stepped down from the Stone Table, brandishing no weapon but her silver wand. "Oh, Peter, Peter," she said, "you really are a fool. You delivered Aslan into my hands, and I didn't even have to try."

"Don't listen to her!" said Baelin. "Her words are honey and vinegar, and she can make them seem like either as she pleases!" He pointed his own sword threateningly at Jadis, and the witch made no move to approach.

"You killed Aslan!" said Pete. "You did terrible things to him, and you killed him—and he wasn't guilty of anything!"

"Wasn't he?" asked Jadis. "You don't know what kind of creature he was. An agent of his father, the Emperor-across-the-Sea, who demands unwavering faith and loyalty. Yet he remains in the uttermost east, unseen, unwilling to fight or dirty his hands, drinking up the blood of those who die in his name. Those who rebel against him are given to me by his own decree, for the Emperor, dear Peter, is the one who wrote the Deep Magic."

"What?" said Peter, startled.

"Yes," said the witch. "The Emperor in the East is he who demanded the blood of your beloved Penelope, and his thirst could only be slaked by her death—or the death of his one and only son. What kind of vile being is this, that he demands such fidelity, and yet he allows this crime—this sin—to take place?"

Pete stared at the witch, dumbfounded. Everything she said… it made sense… it might be true…

Sir Baelin turned to Peter and slapped him across the cheek. "Do not listen to the witch!" he said. "She has the power to peer into your memories, to play games with your mind! She's probably doing it right now!"

"She was doing it at the camp," said Pete in sudden realization. "You weren't there to parley or negotiate! You were there to get close to me, so that you could read my mind!"

Jadis smiled. "At last, a spark of intelligence shines forth. You should think about what I've told you, Peter. Consider carefully whose side you want to be on: a distant Emperor who cannot be pleased? Who makes impossible demands and sets unreachable goals, all aimed at controlling your lives and denying you your free will? Or will you listen to me? For I live in the real world, and I can see the gray between the black and white, and I am happy to forgive small sins."

"Lying witch!" cried Baelin. "If you will not silence your own tongue, I shall cut it out of your wretched mouth!" The knight lowered his sword, and he charged… and Jadis calmly reached out and touched him with her wand. Sir Baelin cried out in surprise and agony, but there was nothing he could do. Where the witch's wand touched his chest, he petrified, and the spell of stone spread throughout his body. In mere seconds, Sir Baelin was a statue, dead and unmoving.

"No!" cried Pete, charging after Baelin. He held his heavy sword and swung it up over his head, meaning to bring it crashing down on the White Witch. As she had done with Baelin, Jadis waited for Pete to come closer, her wand pointed to touch this second human, the only remaining threat to her power…

"Peter!" cried Penelope. The centauress galloped with all her speed, and she interposed herself between Pete and the witch. If Jadis was surprised by this, she didn't show it. In fact, having seen into Pete's past, she probably expected this very outcome… and so it was with relish that she touched her wand to Penelope of Beruna and petrified the centauress as well.

Pete stopped in his tracks. "Penelope?" he cried. She was a statue, dead and gone for all Pete knew. "Penny… no…"

" _ **Nooo!**_ " came another cry, louder than any yet. Oreius too charged the witch in his fury, and he was a canny warrior. He swung his lance in front of himself with all his might, and the witch held up her wand to guard herself. Then something happened that Jadis never expected: Oreius crashed into the magical device with such force that it shattered into a million tiny crystals, like snowflakes. Deprived of her defense, the witch scrambled away from the furious centaur and clambered back on top of the Stone Table again. The stain from Aslan's dried blood still remained on the surface of the table, underneath the witch's feet.

"Defilers and simpletons!" said the witch. She seethed with fury and no longer pretended at kindliness. "This night, you have sealed your fate! Aslan is dead. Your army is all but destroyed. And I stand here, undefeated! I am eternal! And you, Peter, will never be High King of Narnia! Remember this, and remember what I have revealed to you—for the Emperor-across-the-Sea will not save you, and you will curse his name and Aslan's before I have done with you!"

The witch looked up to the sky, and so did Pete and Oreius. A great red-scaled wyrm beat its wings and soared for the hilltop. Jadis stretched up her hands… and allowed the dragon to catch her in its claws. The enormous beast bore her away through the air, leaving Pete and Oreius alone to morn all the many soldiers—and dear friends—that they had lost.


	48. Chapter 48

IN the wake of a battle like the one at Table Hill, the old Pete Pevensie—the regular joe, the NYPD detective, the man who had never really been in love, and who didn't believe in magic—the old Pete might have had a breakdown. He might have fallen to his knees and screamed to the heavens, why, why was he made to experience all this loss and witness all this death? But not the Pete Pevensie who had been tortured and fooled; who had laughed on his deathbed; who had destroyed an island with fire; who had survived skirmish and battle many times over; and who had loved and lost more than anybody ought to. This Pete gazed on the petrified faces of Penelope and Baelin and gave himself over to revenge. All around him, on the hillside, on the field, the dead were beyond count. Soldier of Peter, of Aslan, of Jadis, of Baelin—it mattered not. All were dead.

When Baelin had been petrified, the undead were without a master, and their actions became confused and directionless. Without orders from the mind of a necromancer, they existed in the world of the living without drive or purpose. The White Witch's soldiers might have been able to take advantage of that confusion, but their own mistress had fled not long thereafter. Only the Narnian rebels retained any cohesion, and they rallied for a final push against the devils of Jadis. The White Witch's ranks were broken, and the monsters fled west, into the wilds. As for Baelin's undead, they wandered aimlessly, attacking anybody who came near them, but leaving unmolested all who likewise left them alone. And when the sun came up the next morning, they vanished, never to rise again in this era of the world.

Pete and Oreius picked their way through the remains. It would take a long time to tend to the dead, but there were yet soldiers left alive to do that undesirable work. They searched for a long time before they found Lumpkin and Brenawen: both dwarves were alive and unharmed, though they had lost many of their kin; and nearly all of Pete's guns had been destroyed by dragon-fire. Falon, too, had held his own in battle: the half-elf, half-hobgoblin stood atop a pile of corpses, troll and manticore and even demon. But Phineas was another matter.

The former Marchwarden, the colonel in command of all the fauns, was gravely wounded. So many of his kind were dead all around him, and Phineas had lain among them. He might have been passed over, if he hadn't chanced to groan in his delirium when Pete and the other officers came by searching. Phineas's left leg had been run through, and his side was pierced—but he lived yet, though for how much longer, Pete couldn't predict. With Aslan gone, they had to make do with old-fashioned battlefield surgery to preserve his life. Thankfully, many elves and nymphs were skilled at binding wounds, and Phineas received the first of their attentions. But after him, so many others remained on the field who needed the aid of healers.

This Pete Pevensie was too jaded to sympathize with the fallen. He was alive, and he had work to do.

* * *

"How are you holding up, old buddy?" Back at the rebels' campsite, inside one of the officers' tents, Pete stood by while Cynthia tended to Phineas's wounds.

"I'm still weak," whispered the faun. "Must be the loss of blood. But don't worry about me. I won't let myself slip away. I have too much to live for." He cast a doleful look at Cynthia, whose hand once again drifted down to hover over her stomach.

The dryad smiled softly. "More like you're too stubborn to let yourself die," she said. "And thank goodness for that."

"I'm glad you're pulling through," said Pete. "We lost… God, we lost a whole hell of a lot of people out there. By rights, more of us should've died with them."

"But we didn't," said Phineas. "Not all of us. Only… poor Penelope. I can hardly believe it."

"I just keep replaying the last things I said to her, over and over, in my head," said Pete. "They weren't pretty. And now I can't take them back. I'll never get the chance to tell her again…"

"Tell her what?" asked Cynthia.

Pete just frowned and shook his head. "It doesn't matter. She's dead. The damned witch turned her into a stone statue, and she's dead."

"Did she break the statue?" asked Phineas.

Pete said, "No… Penny and… uh, I mean, the statues of Penny and Baelin are still up there on the hill, by the Stone Table."

"Best to leave them there, then," said Phineas. "They should be safe among the standing stones. But if we try to move them, we risk breaking them. And then there will be no lifting the curse laid upon them."

Pete's eyes widened. "Are you saying there's a way to bring them back?"

"Possibly," said Phineas. "That _is_ how these things usually work, after all."

"Aw, Finny, I could kiss you!" said Pete. "But how do we do it? The witch's wand can't help us: Oreius broke it."

"If Aslan were here, he would know," said Cynthia glumly. She hung her head. "But he isn't here. We'll have to find our own way."

"So… you guys don't really have a clue." Pete sighed. "I guess I should've known. But, still, I guess I'd rather keep up hope. If I throw that away, I don't have much left."

"Hope is powerful," said Phineas. "After the battle, it kept me alive long enough to see this morning."

Pete nodded. "All right. I won't give up on this. Hell, you guys already know that. But… during the battle, Jadis turned tail and ran. She probably went back to her castle, and now we don't have enough of an army to take her down."

"What good is an army against magic, anyway?" asked Phineas. "We've seen the witch's power. If somebody is going to destroy her at last, I think we must turn to stealth and guile."

"You're talking assassination," said Pete. "Sneak up on her and take her by surprise."

"Precisely," said the faun. "We ought to—"

"What's this 'we' business?" said Pete. "You're out of commission, and no way is Cynthia coming along while she's got a bun the oven. You two are both staying here. I'll take Falon and the dwarves." And that was Pete's last word on the matter.

* * *

Pete didn't assemble his army for a rousing speech or any courageous words of parting. He didn't want any to-do surrounding his departure. Besides, it wasn't really much of an army anymore. And it wouldn't be doing any more fighting, so long as Pete actually managed to pull this crazy scheme off. He quietly told Falon, Lumpkin, and Brenawen to gather supplies and weapons enough for a two-week journey to the White Witch's castle. They didn't know quite what Pete had in mind, but they followed his orders regardless. Then, the next day, he asked them to meet him by the Stone Table.

When the human arrived, Lumpkin and Brenawen were staring forlornly at the petrified Penelope. Falon knelt before Sir Baelin, muttering something to himself. And General Oreius was there as well, waiting to speak with Pete.

"My Lord Peter," said the centaur. "You're leaving us."

"Yes I am," said Pete. "I'm going to try and kill Jadis. I don't care what Aslan said about destiny and all that crap—if I get my chance, I'm going to pull the trigger and put the bitch down."

"I'm coming with you, then," said Oreius. "Like you, I would see Penelope avenged."

"Like me?" said Pete.

Orieus nodded. "I'm not blind. I can tell that you and she—"

"You're wrong," said Pete. "But we can sort all that out when I get back. Assuming I make it back. And assuming there's a way to save Penelope and Baelin."

"You think they can be restored to life?" asked Orieus.

"Anything's possible in this world," said Pete. "Damned if I know for sure, though. Anyway, somebody needs to stay here and keep 'em safe. Make sure the statues don't get broken or shattered. If you really love Penny, you should stick around and watch over her. Besides," Pete added, pointing across the battlefield to the rebel camp, "they still need a general to look up to while I'm gone. So you've got to stay behind and take charge."

Oreius looked over at the two dwarves and the muttering half-breed. "These are the only companions you'll have along with you, then?"

"I'd trust them with my life," said Pete. "I already have, on more than one occasion. This won't be much different."

"Except that now, you must cross a rugged wasteland, crisscrossed with all manner of cracks, chasms, and canyons," said Oreius. "While the witch's winter held, bridges of ice made the way passable. But no more."

"What would you suggest then?" asked Pete.

Oreius smiled. "I've already taken care of it. You'll only need to meet some old friends on the road."

"That's mysterious and not at all helpful," said Pete. He smiled and offered his hand to Oreius, who shook it. "It's been a pleasure fighting at your side, General."

"Likewise, my lord. May Aslan's blessings go with you."

"Yeah, sure," said Pete. "You too."

The centaur said no more and left the four travelers to themselves. He headed down the hillside and made his way back to the camp.

Pete turned to the dwarves. "You guys all ready to go?"

Lumpkin took one last look at the statue of Penelope. The centauress's face was twisted with pain. It was difficult to gaze upon her like this, but it was even harder to look away. "Goodbye, dear friend," he said to the statue, "until we return." Then he looked to his wife and to Peter and nodded.

"We're ready," said Brenawen, fixing a knapsack to her back and handing a similar pack to Peter. "I'm not sure about Falon, though."

Pete went over to where the hybrid knelt. "Hey. You gonna sit there all day and chat with the voices in your head, or can we get a move-on?"

Falon didn't move, but he raised his voice so that Pete could hear him. "I realize now that Serpens is gone. Sir Baelin is hardly to blame for our great loss. He is a hero, and he has suffered much because of Jadis."

"We all have," said Pete. "So let's go get her. What do you say?"

Falon stood, adjusted his sword and his backpack, and said, "I'm ready as well."

"That's the spirit," said Pete. "Good to have you with us, big fella. All right, campers: time to hit the road."

* * *

Pete, Lumpkin, Brenawen, and Falon set out from the Stone Table and hiked over the rough western country. There wasn't really a road, per se, so much as a broad and straight pathway through the wilds where the boulders and great conifers had been cleared away by centuries of intermittent travel between Table Hill and Jadis's palace. But before they had traveled a full league, Pete spotted two tiny shapes standing in the path, waiting for the travelers' approach. When they drew closer, Pete could see that they were beavers.

"As I live and breathe," laughed Pete, "Mr. and Mrs. Beaver! It seems like I haven't seen you two in forever."

"Well it has been most of a year," said Mr. Beaver.

Mrs. Beaver gently tapped him with her paw and said, "What he means, Your Majesty, is that it's lovely to see you again, and an honor to be recognized."

"Oh, I'm still not anybody's Majesty yet," said Pete. "I'm just a count at the moment, not a king."

"Your Lordship, then," said Mrs. Beaver. "We've been waiting for you ever since General Oreius sent word to us at the Great Dam."

"How did he do that?" asked Pete.

"Birds," said Mr. Beaver. "Doves and pigeons, mostly. Frightful chatterboxes. Talk your ears right off, they will. Aw, but Lor' Peter, you're a sight for sore eyes. You know that after you left, the White Witch sent soldiers to take back the dam, just like you said she would?"

Pete only vaguely recalled the details from back then, but he nodded. "Yeah. How did you guys get away?"

"Oh, Mr. Beaver was very clever," said Mrs. Beaver. "When you made him Chief Engineer of the Alliance Corps, his pride puffed him up like a woodchuck. But the honor was well deserved, if I do say so myself, because his plan saved us all."

Mr. Beaver explained, "I had all my lads in Gnawing Division weaken the Great Dam in just a few key places, and then we cleared out of there and let Jadis have the blasted place. Of course it wouldn't do much of anything while the river was frozen, but ever since you set foot in Narnia, milord, it's been getting warmer and warmer, just a little bit each day. I reckon the river must've melted and burst the dam a long time before you actually sat in the throne and broke the witch's spell."

"Not bad," said Pete. "Remind me to tell you about the time I blew up Galma."

"Sounds interesting," said Mr. Beaver. "But, as to why we're here: there simply isn't a path that'll take you all the way to the witch's castle on foot. Unless, that is, we come with you to build some bridges."

"We?" said Brenawen. The Black Dwarf looked at the beavers curiously and asked, "How can just the two of you possibly build bridges for us?"

"Oh, it's not just us," said Mr. Beaver. "I brought all the lads—Gnawing _and_ Building Divisions." At this point, he gave a shrill whistle, and a veritable swarm of beavers surged out of the rough country and onto the path.

Falon looked at all of the small animals in confusion and dismay. "Beavers, beavers," he mumbled. "This is a lot of beavers."

"It _is_ a lot of beavers," Pete agreed. "I guess they're coming along with us."

* * *

On the very next night, the second since the Battle of Table Hill, something unusual happened at the stroke of midnight exactly. The ground rumbled and quaked, and it cracked open in places and then crashed back together again. It seemed to the beavers as if the very world were coming to an end, and they ran around in a panic.

"What's happening?" cried Mrs. Beaver.

"Earthquake!" said Peter. "We must be on a fault-line!"

"No!" cried Falon. "No, no, no, it's happened at midnight; happened at the Witching Hour! It must be the magic of the witch. The witch, the witch, the White Witch is trying to stop us!"

Pete wasn't sure that he believed that, though, so he decided to ask an expert when the quaking finally stopped. After a minute or so, the tremors subsided, and everything returned to normal. "Lumpkin? Was this a natural quake, or something else?"

"I've never heard of anything like this in the west of Narnia," said Lumpkin. "Groundquakes, when they happen, shake the seacoast and the islands—not these lands."

"Okay," said Pete, "not natural then." He looked around at the whole confused mass of beavers. "Everybody okay? Nobody got hurt, did they?"

"We seem to be fine," said Mrs. Beaver, dusting herself of. "But our path has been barred by an open fissure."

"Only the first of many we're likely to see in this country," said Mr. Beaver. "Lucky thing, the quake did half our job for us already in shaking down some trees. Only…"

"What's the matter?" asked Pete.

"They're pine," said Mr. Beaver in distaste. "I don't like working with pine. The sap is extra sticky, and it gums up my gnawing-teeth."

"I'm sure we'll manage," said Mrs. Beaver. "Remember, we're here to help Count Peter and his friends complete their journey."

"Right you are," said Mr. Beaver. "Don't you worry, Your Lordship! We'll have a solid bridge over this canyon in no time flat. Just you watch; and if I do say so myself, prepare to be amazed!"


	49. Chapter 49

WHEN Pete went back to sleep that night after the earthquake, he experienced an unusual dream. He looked up and saw a clear, starry, moonless night, and then he realized that he was standing back on top of Table Hill. He could see the torches from the rebel camp down across the battlefield, and the field still showed all the scars of recent combat. Only, on the hilltop, everything was different. The statues of Penelope and Baelin were gone, and the ring of standing stones had been cast down so that they littered the area like so many boulders. The Stone Table itself had been cracked in two, and the stain of blood was gone from its ruin.

"A lamb was sacrificed on that altar," said a voice.

Pete turned around and saw the form of a lion approach from among the fallen henge-stones. "Aslan," said Pete.

"Peter, you must not morn my passing," said Aslan, "for though Jadis slew my mortal form, I endure in the uttermost east."

Pete grinned. "Struck down, but still more powerful than she could possibly imagine. You must really be Aslan, because you still talk like a Jedi Master."

"Peter, you are about to be tested," said the lion, "but you cannot pass the test without my help."

"I'm listening," said Pete.

Then the ground began to shake beneath their feet, and something wondrous happened: beneath the pieces of the Stone Table, a tree began to grow. In mere seconds, a trunk burst forth from the soft ground, tossing the pieces of the altar away. It grew branches, leaves, and silver apples. The leaves were green and the fruit was fresh, but only for an instant. Then everything turned brown, and the leaves fell away, and the apples dropped from the branches and withered to nothing. The tree-trunk itself turned brown and dead.

"Go to the tree," said Aslan. "Pick up an apple-seed."

Pete did as he was asked. Several of the fallen apples had rotted away, leaving only their seeds behind. Pete picked one up and cradled it in his hand.

"Keep that safe," Aslan instructed. "You will need it soon."

"Okay," said Pete, pocketing the seed. "By the way, what about Penleope and Baelin? The witch turned them to stone. Is there any way to bring them back?"

"Do not concern yourself with the fate of friends left behind," said Aslan. "Focus on the road ahead. Keep heart while in Jadis's country, and remember what is real and what is not. Remember the gift you have been given. And morn your losses no longer."

"But… Aslan, wait! Aslan…!" Pete implored, but the lion said no more.

And that was when Pete woke up. It was morning. Falon, Lumpkin, and Brenawen were already packing the gear, but they hadn't roused Pete yet, because there hadn't been need. The beavers still had plenty of work to do on their log-bridge across the chasm.

On a whim, Pete reached into his pocket. He was shocked to find a tiny apple-seed nestled therein.

* * *

The trek through the rough wilderness was slow-going and difficult, and many times they had to wait for the beavers to open up a path over some gorge or gap that couldn't be scaled and would've taken too long to circle around. Having those diligent little builders around was a great boon, and Pete wondered whether they would've been able to make the journey at all without their help. Lumpkin often bemoaned the fact that they were forced to walk all this way; but since the rebel army had had neither griffons nor pegasi to bear them through the air, it was an empty complaint. Eventually, Brenawen asked Lumpkin whether he wouldn't prefer to tunnel through the solid rock all the way to the witch's castle while the rest of them resumed walking in peace and quiet; and that silenced Lumpkin.

Falon was in unusually high spirits as they traveled. Walking among trees, even these rugged evergreens, seemed to calm the hybrid and clear his mind. When he spoke, he was lucid and sensible, and he didn't seem so obsessed with revenge anymore.

The brisk chill of late autumn didn't bother any of the travelers, but they were all aware that the first snows of winter would soon fall again. Narnia's respite from the cold had been all too brief. Now there was a nip in the air, and the travelers' breath was visible in the mornings. Still they hiked on, slowly but surely drawing closer to the northerly realm that sat within the shadow of White Witch's ice-castle.

After many days, the ground began to level out again, and the canyons and pine-trees gave way to scrub and short grass. The terrain ahead was like a steppe or a tundra, wide and open, but also smoother and easier than their road had been so far. It was clear, after this, that the beavers' task was done. There were neither gaps to cross nor trees to make crossings with, and so Pete's party and the beavers parted ways. "But don't you be a stranger!" said Mr. Beaver. "Make sure you stop and visit us on your way back! Without a doubt, Lord Peter, the Mrs. will have something hot waiting for you on the stove when you get there."

"Of course I will," said Mrs. Beaver. "Don't you wait another year to see us again, Your Lordship!" Then she blinked and said, "Oh, dear me! The next time we meet, it will be 'Your Majesty' for certain! I'm not sure that our home is fit to host a king yet—"

"Oh, don't bother about that, Mother," said Mr. Beaver. "We might call this Son of Adam 'Lordship' and 'Majesty,' but if he hasn't put airs on himself yet, I don't suppose that'll change once he's king."

"I certainly hope not," said Pete, "and I'm sure your home is… just lovely. So, yeah, I'll come by for a visit sometime. If we live through this."

Mrs. Beaver shuddered and said, "Keep up hope, Lord Peter, and don't go borrowing trouble now!"

"I won't," said Pete. "And thank you. For everything."

* * *

After another short couple of days, they came within sight of Jadis's palace. No living creature met them on the way. They spied neither goblin nor wolf, neither huge troll nor tiny sparrow. If Jadis had spies or soldiers in this place, they were well hidden and never revealed themselves. The palace in the distance was blue-white and all spikes and spires, like a great conglomeration of icicles rising out of the ground. But as they drew closer, all the travelers could see that it was intricately worked and finely detailed, without so much as single crack, flaw, or misplaced snowflake. The closer they got, the more the castle looked as if it were made from crystal rather than ice.

Frosted earth crunched underfoot as the foursome hurried to cross this coverless plain. There was nothing to hide behind and no way to sneak, so they decided on speed as their best defense. "If Jadis is watching," Falon cautioned, "she must know that we're coming by now. If that witch is good at anything, it's seeing what might be hidden from lesser eyes."

"In that case," said Pete, "there's not much point in sneaking in after all." He sighed. "Plan A's not going to work."

"Um, my lord, we didn't actually have a Plan A," said Lumpkin. "We don't have a Plan B, either."

"Yes we do," said Pete. "I just kept them both to myself, because Plan A boiled down to sneaking inside and winging it, and Plan B is improvising everything from the get-go."

Brenawen's face fell into her hands. "We're doomed."

"Yes, we are!" said Falon, grinning toothily. "It's it glorious?" The hybrid did a little dance and started spinning around in circles, as if he were trying to make himself dizzy. All the while, he shouted louder and louder, "Marching into the face of certain death with no hope whatsoever of surviving, surely, our names will be immortalized forever in the songs of the Bards, and before our lifeless corpses have even hit the ground, our souls will be borne to the uttermost east and paradise everlasting—!"

Pete whistled and snapped his fingers in Falon's face, trying to get the creature's attention. "Hey! Yoo-hoo, Daffy Duck, over here! Look at me!" When Falon stopped spinning (and stumbled from the dizziness), Pete said, "How's about we save the freakout for when the wicked witch is ding-dong dead?"

Falon nodded and muttered, "Ding-dong. Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong…"

"Truly inspiring," said Lumpkin. "We really _are_ doomed."

"Hey," said Pete, "none of that! We've survived this long. We've done incredible, impossible things. And we can beat Jadis. I know we can… because we're good enough, we're smart enough, and gosh darn it, people _like_ us!"

"Ding-dong!" shouted Falon gleefully.

Lumpkin and Brenawen shared a worried look between them. "You do realize," said Brenawen to her husband, "that we two are the only sane people here?"

* * *

They boldly approached the front gates of the ice-castle. Jadis had neither sentries nor guards posted here. No living thing warded these immense doors. That didn't seem to matter, though, because there weren't any discernible means of opening them from the outside.

"What do we do now, O brilliant leader?" said Brenawen.

"We knock," said Pete. He walked up to the doors and made a fist, but before he could rap on the icy surface, they shuddered and slowly creaked open, as if of their own volition. "See?" said Pete. "Ask and ye shall receive."

The doors swung open, and inside stood a crooked little Black Dwarf with a funny, wrinkled face. He croaked one word: "Come."

Pete and the others moved to enter the castle, but the strange dwarf held up his hands to bar the way. "No!" he said. "Only Peter comes. Others must stay."

Pete looked from his friends to the funny dwarf and said, "Who are you, again?"

"Ginarrbrik," said the dwarf. "I am Queen Jadis's butler."

"Okay, Ginarrbrik," said Pete. "You already know who I am, so now that we both know each other, I'm gonna level with you. I ain't going in there alone. Where I go, my friends come with me, if they want to."

"And we want to," said Brenawen. "Just try and stop us."

"Very well," said Ginarrbrik. "But you follow behind. Son of Adam must go first."

Lumpkin caught Peter by the sleeve and said, "My lord, this is such an obvious trap that—"

"—That we have no choice," said Pete, "except to play along. For now."

"As you wish," said Lumpkin. The dwarf drew his blunderbuss and held the gun tightly. "But I won't let us be caught by surprise. And I suggest that you all ready yourselves for absolutely anything. Anything, I say!"

Ginarrbrik motioned for Pete to come inside, and so the human walked past the little butler and into the castle. But before Pete took even three steps, he disappeared! He just vanished, into thin air!

Lumpkin and Brenawen started in surprise, and Falon said, "I was absolutely not ready for that."

They all three rushed into the castle after Pete, but he was nowhere to be found. The human was simply gone! And then, as it so happened, the massive doors swung shut behind them with a deafening _slam_. Now they were trapped, and they were left alone in the palace's entryway with the grinning Ginarrbrik.

"Where has Lord Peter gone?" demanded Lumpkin. "What have you done with him?"

"Not me," said Ginarrbrik with a cruel laugh. "Queen Jadis. And now you must wait. Peter will either return to you… or he will not."


	50. Chapter 50

PETE experienced the sudden sensation of falling. Then he felt as if he were in a fog: cold and wet and clingy. The fog rolled away, and his body dried and warmed, and he realized that he wasn't falling at all: he was lying in a bed, underneath sheets. But not a comfortable bed: something hard and unfriendly. His eyes opened, and his vision cleared, and Pete saw a bright light… and the face of Taraiel the elf, who was hovering over him in a gown of pure white…

Pete started and sat up. "Tara?"

"Whoa," said the woman. "Easy there, Detective. You've been in a coma for nearly a week. You should take it slow."

Pete looked around and tried to get his bearings. He was in a white room… no, wait, a hospital room. And the woman standing nearby… it wasn't a white gown she wore; it was a doctor's coat. But she was a dead ringer for Taraiel. In fact, she looked _exactly_ like the elf-queen who had died so many months ago. Only… her long curls of dark-brown hair hid her ears. Pete couldn't tell whether they were pointed like an elf's, or rounded like a human's. "Where am I, Tara?"

"That's the second time you've called me that," said the woman. "Who's Tara?"

"I'm… sorry?" said Pete. "Do I know you?"

"I'm Dr. Dawkins. I've been taking care of you." She held up a clipboard and read from the medical chart, "It says here that you fell out of a third-story window, in a dead man's attic, in East Flatbush. You hit your head. You're lucky that you didn't come away with a serious concussion."

Pete looked around and blinked. There was sunlight streaming in through a window, and outside, he could see trees, buildings, and a parking lot filled with cars. "Am I back on Earth?"

Dr. Dawkins looked at the chart again and said, "The CAT scan didn't detect any brain-damage. Hmm." She took a pen-light from a pocket and shined it in Pete's eyes.

Pete winced and looked away from the light. "Okay, okay!" said Pete. "I'm all right! I know where I am! I just… got a little disoriented. Woke up from a pretty vivid dream just now."

"Yes, that does happen to coma-patients," said the doctor. "But, just to be sure, where do you think you are now? I want to hear you say it."

"Brooklyn," said Pete. "I'm in Brooklyn, New York."

"Very good. All right, Detective Pevensie. I'm going to run a few more tests, and if I'm satisfied with the results, I'll let you see your visitors. Then, barring any further complications, you'll be released into their custody later today."

"Custody?" said Pete. "Who's here to visit me?"

"Your parents," said Dr. Dawkins. "I hear that they flew in from Albany. You're lucky to have a family that cares so much."

Pete nodded. "That's good. Good one. Almost had me going for a second there." Then, suddenly, he jumped up and stood on the hospital bed. "Hey, Jadis!" he shouted. "Your little girl, the Green Witch, she already tried this bit! Fool me once, shame on me, but fool me twice… ain't gonna happen! Wherever you are, I'm coming to kill you, you bitch!"

Dr. Dawkins became alarmed and rushed to the door. "Orderlies! We've got a live one!"

Quickly, two burly men in white scrubs burst into the room and wrestled Pete down onto the bed. "No!" Pete shouted. "Lemme go!" But one of them produced a syringe of sedative and injected Pete in the arm. Although he screamed and struggled, Pete felt consciousness drift away again…

* * *

Pete felt steady movement underneath his body and woke up. He was in the back seat of a car… no, wait. He recognized this particular vehicle from the smell. It was a station wagon—the old Chrysler that his parents had owned when he was a kid. He sat up and groaned. It _was_ the old station wagon—same ugly brown upholstery and everything. And up in the driver's and passenger's seats, there were Chuck and Gracie Pevensie. Only, they had gotten rid of this car years ago…

"Oh, good, he's awake," said Gracie. "Pete, honey, how are you?"

"The folks in the hospital said that you got a little violent," said Chuck. "But I talked 'em into letting you out. I figured you could come with us."

"Where are we going?" asked Pete.

"Where do you want to go?" asked Gracie.

"Doesn't matter," said Pete. "None of this is real."

"Hmph," Chuck snorted. "Look at him. Spends a week in dreamland, and now he thinks he's a philosopher."

"No!" said Pete. "I mean, all of this, you guys, the old car, New York—it's all just an illusion!"

"See what I mean?" said Chuck. "I knew it wasn't worth it to pay his way through college."

Gracie reached into the back seat and felt Pete's forehead. "Oh my. Are you sure you don't want to go back to the hospital?"

Pete batted the hand away. "I'm fine, Mom! Just… tell Dad to stop the car!"

"Hold on," said Chuck, slamming on the breaks. The car screeched to a halt. "Look," said Chuck, pointing out the window. "A bar. Why don't we head inside for a drink?"

"Booze, at this hour?" said Gracie. "And with Pete just out of the hospital?"

"Now, honey," said Chuck, "the doctor told us to ease Pete back into his life. Do normal things. So, inside for a drink."

Pete looked at the two people in the car with him, the two illusions that he knew weren't really his parents. Then he laughed. "Okay!" he said. "I'm game! I'll play along, and then maybe the woman behind the curtain will come out and show herself."

Outside, on the street, traffic backed up; and cars honked angrily; and New Yorkers leaned out of their windows and shouted. But Chuck, Gracie, and Pete left the old station wagon in the middle of the street and went into a bar named "Phil's Place."

The music inside the bar was smooth jazz. Pete hated smooth jazz. Even though it was broad daylight outside, it was dark and smoky inside the bar, and yet only one barfly sat within, knocking back the drinks. Then Pete did a double-take and realized that the barfly wasn't sitting on the bar-stool: he was standing on it. It was Lumpkin, wearing cut-off jeans, an AC/DC t-shirt, and a black bandanna with skulls on it. On the other side of the bar, Phineas wore a bartender's apron (and nothing else) and served the drinks.

"Holy crap on a cracker!" said Pete. "You guys… it's really good to see you here!"

Phineas and Lumpkin both looked up, and Phineas said, "Do I… uh, do I know you, buddy?" He had a thick Brooklyn accent now.

"It's me. It's Pete."

"Well I'm Phil," said the faun, "and this is Mick, who I just met this morning," he added, pointing to the dwarf. Lumpkin… or Mick, or whoever… held up a glass of whiskey and grunted in Pete's direction.

"Okay…" said Pete. "That's… okay… different." He walked over to the bar and sat down. Behind him, Chuck and Gracie went over to the jukebox and started arguing over whether they should put on Madonna or Yanni. Pete slumped down on the bar top and buried his head in his folded arms.

"Hey, now," said "Phil," setting a glass in front of Pete, "you look like you've got some troubles. Why not have this one on the house?"

Pete looked up and stared right past the drink, looking at the bartender. "Hey, uh, this might sound like a crazy question, but… you're a faun, right?"

"A fawn?" repeated Phil. "You mean like Bambi?"

"No," said Pete, shaking his head. "I mean, like, you know that you're a satyr, don't you?"

Phil grinned. "Well, I do like the ladies, but I think I can control myself most of the time."

"No!" Pete shouted. "I'm talking about those horns on your head, and the fur and hooves down there! And this guy," he continued, pointing at Mick, "is a dwarf, and—"

"The politically correct term is 'little person,'" said Mick angrily. "What's the matter with you, anyway?"

"Yeah!" said Phil. "That's not very sensitive! He can't help his condition!"

Over by the jukebox, Pete's parents had decided on something experimental by Yoko Ono, and they danced a poorly-timed waltz to the "music."

Then the front door chimed, and into the bar came Penelope the centaur. Only, instead of her armor or tunic, she wore the top half of a skimpy little red dress, which pushed her cleavage front and center. She clip-clopped up to the bar and said, "Hey, Phil. The usual."

Phil put a martini on the counter and said, "Here ya go, Rosie. By the way, watch out for this guy. He's a jerk." The barkeep made no bones about pointing at Pete.

"Rosie" turned to Pete and said, "Well, _hello_ gorgeous. You're new here!"

"And you're a centaur," grumbled Pete.

"Hmph. Telling a girl that her ass is huge won't help you get into her pants."

"You're not wearing pants."

Rosie smiled flirtatiously and said, "Wouldn't you like to know!"

Pete slumped back down onto the bar.

"Quiet!" said Mick. "Phil, turn up the TV! I want to hear this!"

Pete looked up while the faun turned up the volume on the small TV hanging in the corner of the bar. On the screen, Pete saw Cynthia… and Jadis! They were both wearing ordinary, human clothes—both very executive-chic—and it appeared that Cynthia was interviewing Jadis for a daytime talk-show.

" _Hi and welcome back to the Summer Brightly Show. I'm here with the world-famous author, Maggie Weiss, who's promoting her new book, a piece of children's fantasy called 'The Adventures of Pete.' Why don't you tell us more about your book, Maggie?"_

" _Oh, there's not much to tell, really. Pete—that's the main character—well, he's not very interesting. And he doesn't have much of a personality. And the villain wins at the end."_

" _That doesn't sound like a very entertaining children's book."_

" _Of course it is! Children have to learn that life isn't fair, and that sometimes the good guy loses because he's a boring, stupid, useless loser. The sooner we can teach our kids to step on the little guy on their way up to the top, the better!"_

Pete stared at the screen and groaned. "I've had enough of this." He got up from the bar and ran outside, leaving his parents behind. He quickly hailed a cab and said, "East Flatbush," before rattling off Digory Kirke's address.

The cab-driver leaned over and faced the back seat—and it was Count Serpens. Not the knight Sir Baelin, but the pale vampire Serpens. "Hop in, pal," he said. "I can have ya there in a jiffy."

Pete climbed into the back of the cab and stared at Serpens's red eyes through the rear-view mirror on the inside of the windshield. The cab-driver noticed Pete's staring and said, "Jeez, buddy, take a Polaroid. It'll last ya longer."

"Sorry," said Pete. "I didn't mean to stare. You just look like someone I know."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," said the driver. He grinned, showing off his fangs. "I have that kind of face."

"This is stupid," said Pete, crossing his arms and looking out the window. "It's like she isn't even trying…"

"Who's not trying?" asked Serpens.

"Jadis," said Pete. "Hell, her daughter did a much better job. She got all the little details right. Had me fooled for _weeks_. But this… what was I supposed to think? That I saw Tara while I was in the hospital, and my subconscious mind somehow worked her into a crazy coma-dream? That the whole Narnia thing wasn't real, but fauns and centaurs are wandering around downtown Brooklyn?"

"You got a problem with fauns and centaurs?" asked the driver. "You some kinda racist?"

"Who, me?" asked Pete. "Naw. Hell, I don't even mind that you're a vampire."

"I appreciate that. You have no idea how many stereotypes we've gotta put up with."

"How are you driving around the daylight, by the way?"

Serpens grinned again. "Sunscreen."

"I should've figured."

The cab pulled up to the curb at Professor Kirke's house. "Thanks," said Pete. "Wait here."

"No problemo. The meter's running."

Pete went up to the front door of the old house and tired the knob. It was locked. So Pete threw his shoulder into it, and after a few hard shoves, he broke it down. The inside of the house was bare. He ran up to the second floor… and then up to the attic… and there was the wardrobe. He threw it open, pushed the old coats aside… and he saw a flat panel of wood. The wardrobe had a back. "No!" shouted Pete, banging on the back of the wardrobe. " _Let me out of here! Let me the fuck out of here, Jadis, you sick, evil cunt!_ _ **Let me go!**_ "

* * *

Pete came out of Kirke's house, careful to not to let anything touch his knuckles. He had pounded on the back of the old wardrobe until his hands were raw and bloody, and now it hurt like holy hell. On the plus side, the yellow cab and "Serpens" were still waiting for him. Pete walked over to the driver's side window.

"Hey, pal," said Serpens, rolling the window down, "you fare's really staring to add up. I'm gonna have to see some cash before we go anywhere else."

Pete didn't say anything. He just balled his fist and slugged Serpens in the face. His knuckles were hamburger, so it _really_ hurt. The vampire went out like a light and slumped over on the steering wheel, which caused the horn to go off. Pete opened the door, pulled Serpens out of the car, and sat behind the wheel. He turned the key, pressed the gas-pedal to the floor, and took off.

* * *

As luck would have it, "Rosie" was trotting down the street a few blocks away. Of course, Pete looked at her and saw Penelope, and even though it was all an illusion, she was still a friendly face. "Hey," he said, pulling up to the curb, "want to go for a ride?"

"In a taxicab?" said the centauress.

"It's not my taxi," said Pete.

"Okay," said Rosie. "Where are you headed?"

"I'm just driving," said Pete, "until I figure things out."

"Okay, sure," said Rosie. "It looks like there's room in the back." She opened one of the back doors and crammed herself into the rear of the cab.

"Comfortable?" asked Pete.

"Sure," said Rosie. "But I'd appreciate it if you turned on the radio."

"Okay." Pete turned the dial, and he heard the voice of the White Witch. Or, rather, world-famous author Maggie Weiss, giving an audio rendition of her book.

" _And now we come to the chapter where Pete's parents and siblings all die in a train-wreck. I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Especially the tear-jerking dialogue. 'Help us, Pete! Save us! Oh, no, wait, there's nothing you can do!' And… CRASH! They're all dead."_

Pete glared at the radio and turned it off.

"Hey!" said Rosie. "I was listening to that!"

"I've been thinking," said Pete, "if I can't get out of here through the wardrobe, what if I tried something a little more drastic?"

"What wardrobe? What are you talking about?"

"They say that if you die in your dreams, you die in real life," said Pete, "but this isn't a dream. I don't know what it is. All I know is, I have to get out of this freaky-deaky funhouse." Pete floored the pedal and gunned the motor.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God!" screamed Rosie, covering her eyes.

Pete pulled into heavy traffic and wove between the cars, accelerating the cab faster and faster.

"Look out!" yelled Rosie.

A solid brick wall loomed ahead. Pete grinned like a madman and steered the car straight for it. "You know, I've always been a fan of Bill Murray movies. _Ghostbusters_ is the best, of course, but _Groundhog Day_ has its moments too."

Rosie fought to open the car-door. "You're insane!"

"Not yet," said Pete. "But I'm getting there!"

_CRASH._


	51. Chapter 51

PETE woke up with Dr. Dawkins shining that little flashlight into his eyes again. He was back in very same hospital room from the beginning of this extended hallucination. "Minor scrapes and bruises only," said Dr. Dawkins. "Not bad, considering that you tried to use yourself for a crash-test dummy."

Pete squinted until the doctor turned off the light. Then he could see her… and something was different. Her ears were exposed, and they were indeed pointed like an elf's. He could see her ears, because her hair was done up in a tall beehive that gave Marge Simpson's a run for its money. Pete swung himself off the bed and said, "You're not real. You're not Tara, and you're not real, so get out of my way."

The doctor stood aside, and Pete was about to leave the room, when a man appeared in the doorway and stopped him. It was none other than Tisroc Ardeeb III… except that the emperor of the jinn was wearing the uniform of an NYPD beat-cop. "Where do you think you're going, buddy?" he said. "Do you realize what kind of trouble you're in? Assault and battery, grand theft auto, reckless driving, endangering the public, and speeding!"

"I know, I know," said Pete. "I'm a cop too, after all."

"You are?" Ardeeb hung his head in disappointment. "In that case, I can't arrest you. Have a nice day." Then he turned and left. Pete could see that Ardeeb had a "kick me" sign taped to his back.

"I don't get it," grumbled Pete, walking toward the hospital lobby. "Is Jadis purposely trying to drive me bat-shit nuts?"

"There you are, son!" said a man's voice.

Pete turned around and found his parents, none other than Charles and Grace Pevensie, waiting for him in the lobby. Only, Chuck was dressed like Napoleon, and Gracie like Wonder Woman.

"Go away," said Pete. "I know you guys aren't my real parents!"

"Uh-oh," said Gracie. "Chuck, when did you tell Pete that he's adopted?"

"Hey, I didn't blab!" said Chuck.

"Oh, well it must've been Eddie then," said Grace.

"Gah!" cried Pete. He turned and stormed out the front door of the hospital. Then he was greeted by the sound of squealing tires, and his little brother Eddie pulled up to the curb in a pink Cadillac convertible. He was wearing a zebra-stripe suit and cheap sunglasses… and in the back seat of the car, there were two mermaids. Cliodhna and Melusine, one dressed in a slutty sailor costume and the other in a Catholic school-girl uniform, sat arm-in-arm, staring into each other's eyes. Their faces were only an inch or two apart, as if they were about to start kissing.

"Hey, dude!" said Eddie. "You'll never believe it, but I picked up these two hot babes at the wharf! You've got to come along and be my wingman on this!"

More than a little dazed by all the bizarre stimuli, Pete slumped down into the passenger-side seat of the convertible. "It's not real," said Pete to himself. "It's not real, it's not real."

Eddie threw the car into first gear and sped out onto the busy street. With the wind whipping through her blue-green hair, Cliodhna leaned over the front seat and said, "Hey, Eddie, baby, where'd you dig up Captain Buzzkill over here?"

"Hey, he's cool, honey," said Eddie. "He's my brother!" Then he leaned over to Pete and said through gritted teeth, "Do _not_ screw this up for me, man!"

Pete didn't say anything. He just opened up the car door again—while Eddie was still driving down the congested highway at close to sixty miles per hour—and stepped out. Eddie and the mermaids laughed, while Pete tumbled onto the road and cracked his head on the pavement.

* * *

When Pete woke up again, he was sitting in some kind of waiting room. There were plush chairs, a potted ficus in the corner, and an inspirational "Hang in there, Baby!" poster with the obligatory kitten dangling from a branch. A woman behind a receptionist's desk—no, wait, it was Brenawen, her face caked with blush and purple eye-shadow—said, "The doctor is in. He'll see you now, Mr. Pevensie."

Pete stood up and stumbled through a frosted-glass door into another office, this one with several full bookshelves, a long reclining-couch, and a large desk cluttered with papers. Seated at the desk was an enormous lion, wearing wire-frame spectacles and a nice Armani suit. "Ah, _gut,_ you're here. Now ve can begin, _ja_?." He spoke with a terrible Austrian accent.

Pete just stared at the lion. "…Aslan?"

" _Nein,_ my name is Dr. Joshua Carpenter. I am a psychoanalyst, and ve have an appointment, remember? Now, please sit down on ze couch and tell me about your relationship vis your mozer."

"You're a lion. In a suit and tie."

The psychiatrist nodded, stroked his mane, and took off the spectacles. "I see. And, do you distrust all professional people wearing suits and ties? Are zey all _a-lyin'_ to you about somezing?"

"That's a terrible pun, and I don't have to put up with it!" said Pete. "What I mean is, this is all one big joke! It's fake! It's phony! Look!" He took out his wallet and opened it, emptying it onto the psychiatrist's desk. Colorful Monopoly money fell out. "Not real," said Pete. Then he took out his Smith & Weston .38, pointed it at Dr. Carpenter's head, and fired. The gun let out a squeak, and a "bang" flag unraveled from the barrel. "Not real!" said Pete.

"I see," said the lion. He reached his paw over to an intercom, pressed the button, and said, "Gladys, please cancel my next appointment. In fact, clear ze rest of my day."

But now Pete was fishing around deeply in his pockets, and his hand brushed against something else… something tiny, and kind of round and smooth… and he brought out an apple seed.

"Vhat is zat you have zere?" asked Dr. Carpenter.

Pete stared down at the small seed and said, "Reality. _This_ is real. Aslan told me… in my dream… to focus on what's real, and what's not. _This_ is real, and everything else here _isn't_. Like _The Matrix_. Blue pill, red pill, there is no spoon." Pete turned and walked out of the office. He walked past the waiting room, down the long and twisting maze of hallways, down a staircase, and out onto the streets. He looked up. He was in Manhattan—in Times Square. Up on the JumboTron, the White Witch was looking down and smiling evilly. Pete just ignored her. He went over to the sidewalk and looked around for a patch of loose earth. Then he planted the apple-seed. And the illusion shattered like a brittle sheet of ice.

* * *

"What have you done?"

Pete rubbed his eyes and looked around. He was back in Jadis's castle. He could tell, because all of the walls were made of that perfect, crystalline ice. But there was open sky overhead—he was in the courtyard, in the center of the palace. There were gardens here—frozen, dead gardens with trees of white and gray, covered in frost and icicles. And the ground underneath his feet was just as frozen. But there, in front of Pete, was the hole where he had driven Aslan's apple-seed into the ground.

"I figured it out," said Pete. "I figured _you_ out, and I escaped from your little sideshow horror-movie." Pete looked down at himself and found that he had all of his Narnian weapons back—his heavy sword and his flintlock pistols. He pulled one of the guns and pointed it at Jadis, though the witch didn't seem scared of it in the least.

"I see," said Jadis. "In that case, since you think that you know everything about me, why don't you explain me to myself?

Pete shrugged. "Okay. Why not? See, at first, I thought that you were just another run-of-the-mill villain. You were, like, Brand-X generic evil; comes in two flavors, 'vanilla' and 'plain.' For crying out loud, lady, your shticks are older than _you_ are. You've got clichés growing on your clichés. (I'd have a doctor take a look at that, by the way.)" As he spoke, Pete kept his pistol trained on Jadis, and he circled around the little plot of frozen ground in the courtyard.

Jadis, who yet stood several feet away from Pete, didn't move, but she followed the human with her stony gaze. "Do you have anything to say that isn't abject buffoonery?"

"Oh yeah," said Pete. "See, I got it a while back. Ever heard of John Milton? _Paradise Lost_? Hell, of course you have. You've seen my memories. When it comes to witches, my brain is a like a Google search, isn't it? I'm an open book to you guys."

Jadis smiled. "Ah. Then you mean to compare me to Milton's tragically heroic Satan? The work of a poet who was 'of the Devil's party without knowing it?'"

Pete rolled his eyes. "That's William Blake you're quoting. And you two have a lot in common, because you're both full of hooey. See, in Milton's poem, God comes off as this strict, controlling, demanding tyrant. And Satan? He's the rebel. The plucky underdog. He sticks it to the Man and fights for freedom, even though it costs him everything. And you know what? It's a load of crap." Pete stalked forward and closed the distance between Jadis and himself. All the while, he kept that gun pointed at her head. "See, the way I look at it, a tyrant is someone who gets in your face. Just like you, Jadis, all up in Narnia's business. But the Emperor-across-the-Sea? That guy doesn't bother us. Sure, Aslan comes along and tells it like it is, but we keep our free will, and the Emperor stays on his side of the world. That suits me to a tee, because it means I never have to set eyes on his ugly mug. You, on the other had… lady, you're a real eyesore."

Jadis just glowered at Pete and uttered a simple challenge: "What are you going to do about it?"

Pete put the gun to Jadis's head and said, "I'm gonna make sure I don't miss."

But then the ground began to rumble and shake. Jadis shrieked, and Pete lost his footing and slipped to the ground. The plot of earth behind the human, the spot where he had planted the seed, churned and shifted… and then a great apple-tree burst forth from the ground, grew to a height of ten, twenty, thirty feet and more, and it blossomed. Green leaves and silver apples. And Jadis looked upon this tree and howled with rage.

"No!" cried the witch. "Get it away! The sight of it is loathsome to me, and I cannot bear it!"

Pete stood up. He looked at the tree, and then down at the struggling witch. Jadis was trying desperately to shield her eyes, cover both of her ears, and plug her nose all at the same time. It was a pitiful sight. He limped over to the witch and aimed the gun again.

"The smell!" cried Jadis. "The foul smell, and the humming in my ears! I can taste them, and they are ash and rot! Make it stop!" In the midst of her mad shouting and flailing, she lashed out with one leg and kicked at Pete. He lost his balance again, and this time the gun went off. The bullet ricocheted into one of the walls of the ice-palace, and a tiny hairline fracture formed… which then spider-webbed into a whole maze of cracks… and the cracks started spreading everywhere throughout the walls of the castle. Jadis, now crawling on all fours, fled from the courtyard and made for one of the exits.

And where she had been rolling on the ground and shouting in agony, she left something behind. The glint of gold caught Pete's eye, and he picked the object up. It was a jeweled circlet—the crown of Narnia.

* * *

Pete picked the direction that he hoped led to the front hall, and he ran. All around, chunks of ice and large sections of the castle were giving way and falling. Whole spires toppled over and crashed through layers of icy floor. Pete did his best to run, skate, and skid on the smoothly polished ice underfoot.

He dashed under another archway, and there he found his friends—Falon, Lumpkin, and Brenawen. They had overpowered the Black Dwarf Ginarrbrik and tied him up, seemingly to interrogate him. But now, Ginarrbrik was howling in panic, and the Narnians didn't seem to know what to do. The ice palace was falling apart around them, and yet the front gates were still intact.

"Lumpkin!" shouted Pete. "Shoot the doors!"

"Lord Peter!" cried the dwarf. "You've returned!"

"Later!" said Pete. "Shoot!" As he ran, he drew two more pistols from his bandolier and fired them both at the ice-gates.

The others caught on quickly. Falon and Brenawen drew their muskets, and Lumpkin aimed his blunderbuss at point-blank range, and between the lot of them, they put all kinds of cracks and holes in the doors. Then Pete rammed into the weak spots, and the dwarves did the same…. but they didn't give way until Falon added his muscle to the effort. One good shove from the hybrid, and the doors shattered. Pete felt the ice-crystals cut his face in places, but he also knew that they were free. The four of them ran away from the castle with all haste, leaving Ginarrbrik hogtied and screaming in the front hall.

They just ran. They sprinted, lungs burning and muscles aching, while behind them, the castle of Jadis imploded. It collapsed in on itself and shattered into a trillion tiny ice-crystals and snowflakes. When the debris settled, nearly an hour later, there was literally nothing left of the castle. No single chunk of ice stood more than a foot off the ground, and a fine layer of snow now coated the countryside. The dead body of Ginarrbrik the dwarf sat where the gates used to be, impaled through the middle by a large icicle. But there was no sign of Queen Jadis anywhere.

The only feature that stood out now was the silver apple-tree from the courtyard, tall and majestic. It rustled pleasantly in the wind and perfumed the air with a sweet scent. Pete looked down at the golden crown in his hands and examined it. As he did so, he noticed that everything was peaceful and quiet.


	52. Chapter 52

"SO you see," said Pete, "I knew from the start that the witch was pulling a fast one on me, just like Jada had tried to do in Tashbaan. A dream-world, made out of my memories. But Jadis wasn't trying to trick me—she was just trying to mess with me. And I got free, with a little help from Aslan."

The foursome followed their own track back to the south and east, retracing their steps on the long journey back to the Stone Table. Lumpkin, who had lived in the Western Woods for fifty years, was the most accomplished tracker in the group, and so he kept them on their course. Usually, when they came to a gap or a gorge, it wasn't any difficult matter to find the beaver-bridge that they had left behind them. Only once or twice did they ever have to spend a great deal of time searching for a crossing. In this fashion, they made fairly good time on the return journey, and they expected to be back at Table Hill before the winter really set in.

"That's the part that I don't understand," said Brenawen. "If Aslan died, and he came to you in your dream, how could he give you that seed in real life? And what was that tree, anyway? I've never seen apples that looked like those before."

"Whatever it was, the White Witch _really_ didn't like it," said Pete. He punched his fist into his palm and said, "I just wish that we could've gone after her. I don't like leaving loose ends."

"She didn't leave a trail for us to follow," said Lumpkin. "So we can hardly worry about that. Anyway, from the looks of things, she must have fled into the far north. Nobody lives up that way but stone-giants and winter-wolves. If we're lucky, she'll never be a bother to anyone again. And if we're really lucky, she'll be squashed under a giant's foot, or torn to pieces by hungry beasts."

"I'm not so sure of that," said Falon seriously. "The White Witch is not so easily defeated. And yet… I had a funny feeling when I first saw that tree. Like… it belonged there. Like someone wanted it there, to drive Jadis away."

"Someone like Aslan?" asked Pete.

"I couldn't say," said Falon.

"Well, who else could it be?" asked Lumpkin.

"But… he's dead," said Brenawen. "Aslan's dead. We buried him. His body yet rests beneath a cairn at Table Hill."

Pete shrugged. "I won't pretend to know what's going on. Let's just worry about it when we get back and meet up with the others." His friends agreed, and so they resumed their journey in companionable silence or idle chit-chat, as suited the time of day and the mood. And, many days later, they came within sight of Table Hill and the rebel camp.

* * *

Though Pete had been gone for nearly a full month, the rebel army hadn't moved from this position. They waited here, for the return of their king. They waited, because only a short while after Pete and his friends had left, miracles started to happen. As Pete learned, once he entered the camp and met up with Phineas, Cynthia, and Oreius, it was but two days after the battle—and three days after Aslan's death—when a terrible earthquake had shaken the ground and shattered the Stone Table.

"I feared the worst," said Orieus, "and so I went up to Table Hill to see whether the statues of Penelope and the other Son of Adam had been destroyed—but to my amazement, when I got there, the human was simply gone, and Penelope was quite alive! She was confused and didn't know where she was, but she'd come back to us!"

Pete was overjoyed by this news. "Penny's alive? Jeez, why didn't you tell me that part first? Where the heck is she?"

"She's around somewhere," said Orieus. "She mostly keeps to herself. I've tried talking to her, but she doesn't want to see me."

"I'm sorry," said Pete. "Go on."

Orieus continued, "Even more unbelievable, when I came back to the camp, I discovered that Aslan's cairn had been destroyed. Every rock was scattered and overturned, and the great lion's body was nowhere to be found."

"Everybody's saying that Aslan has come back to life," said Phineas.

"But nobody's seen him," added Cynthia, "so we can't really be sure."

"I believe it to be true," said Oreius. "How else could Penelope have been cured, if not by Aslan?"

"That explanation is as good as any," said Pete. "Hell, this is Aslan we're talking about, right? If there's anybody who can come down with a bad case of 'stabbed to death' and then just get better, it'd be him."

"You're right," said Cynthia. "I think it was Aslan too."

"Okay," said Pete, "I'm going to go find Penny. We've got some unfinished business to hash out, so I'll see you guys later. Somebody let me know when we're ready pull up the tent-stakes and head home."

* * *

Pete found Penelope standing by herself before the decimated remains of Aslan's tomb. This was where they had had their last conversation, too. Pete cringed at the memory. He'd been a jackass to Penny, and now he was going to have to eat some crow. He never looked forward to moments like these; but then, nobody did.

"Hey there," said Pete. "It's, um… I'm really glad that you're okay, Penny."

The centauress turned and faced Peter. "My lord," she said with a curt nod. "You've returned."

"Yep. The White Witch… she got away. She's still alive, and she's out there somewhere, but… I think we've won. It's over, for now."

"That's good," said Penelope. "It means that you'll soon become our high king."

"Yeah," said Pete. "Do you, uh, know what happened to Sir Baelin?"

"No," said the centauress. "When I awoke, I found the Stone Table cracked, and the standing stones had fallen, but Sir Baelin was nowhere to be found."

"Huh. That's a mystery." Pete nervously scratched the back of his head and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Look, Penny, before all this happened… I went and stuck my foot in my mouth again, and I said some stuff that I'm not sure I can ever take back… but I'm not proud of myself for saying it, and I'm sorry. I wish that we could just forgive and forget."

"I can forgive," said Penelope, "but I won't soon forget."

"Okay," said Pete. "I guess that's fair. I just… I wish that we could put the past in the past, and maybe just start all over again?"

"You want things to go back to the way they were before?"

"Yeah," said Pete. "Back when we were friends. You know… if you'd like that."

"I would like that," said Penelope. She held out her hand to Pete. "Friends, then."

Pete took Penny's hand and shook it. "Friends." The human smiled, and the centauress did likewise. "Wow," said Pete, "okay. Are we cool, then?"

"Not quite," said Penelope. "But give it time. I think we will be 'cool' again someday."

Pete grinned broadly and said, "I'll be waiting… General."

Penelope blinked. "I resigned my post… and you accepted."

"Forget all that," said Pete. "We both had a lot of crap going on in our lives right then. I was confused, you were confused. No way were we thinking clearly. Besides, they're going to make me king. Think about it. It's actually going to happen! _I'm_ going to be in charge of the _whole country._ I can't do it without my best general in charge of the army."

"You could so do it!" said Penelope.

"But I don't want to," said Pete. "What do you say… help a guy out here?"

"All right," said Penelope. "I'll stay."

"Awesome." Pete gave the centauress a thumbs-up.

"I'm never going to understand humans, am I?"

* * *

December marched on, and the rebel army marched for home. The journey east to Cair Paravel was a long one, and Christmas would come and go before it was done. Pete decided to purposely avoid Beruna for Penelope's sake, which was just as well, because the centaur city still had a lot of rebuilding to do. Nevertheless, when they came just north of it, General Oreius and most of the centaurs departed from the main group and headed south. They would doubtlessly be needed to help with both the defense and reconstruction of Beruna. So command of the rebel army—which wasn't in rebellion anymore, because they were no longer at war—passed from Orieus to Penelope, and they parted ways.

The Yuletide was celebrated when the army made camp south of the Owlwood. Winter—not the witch's cursed winter, but a real winter—set in, and snow fell in gentle flurries. It was neither very harsh nor very cold this season, and though the army was short on fresh supplies, there was much feasting and drinking and good cheer to be had in the camp. They were only a short distance from Cair Paravel, after all, and the promise of a coronation festival kept everybody in high spirits and in anticipation of a proper party to come.

The New Year came and went. Pete had come into Narnia near the beginning of December, 2008, and now he had spent all of 2009 in this magical world—thirteen months in total. At the end of the first week of January—2010 by Pete's reckoning and "Year 1 in the Time of the King" by the Narnians'—they came at last to Cair Paravel and home.

* * *

This time, nothing was spared. No effort, no expense, nothing was held back to restore and beautify Narnia's old capital. The city around the fortress had been buried by time long ago, but now people of all races came, and they built houses. Dwarves, especially, intended to make the city on the Cair into a marvelous place, a rival to its glory of old. All manner of furnishings and decorations were brought in from all over Narnia, from Archenland, from the Calormene Empire, and from the Sea Kingdom. Gold and glass, silver and gems, ivory and marble—much wealth was paid in tribute to the new Kingdom of Narnia, for hopes were high that it would be a friendlier nation than it could ever have been under Jadis's thousand-year rule.

January came and went, and as the cold drear of February set it, Pete decided that he had delayed things long enough. Cair Paravel was incredible now—polished to a shine, its golden surfaces reflected everything. In the daytime, the sunlight lit up every corner with a dazzling brilliance. It was a palace fit for a king… and now Pete knew that he had to become a king fit for the palace.

Outside the walls of the Cair, a great deal of progress had been made by Narnian's dwarves—mostly Red, but also some Black who had sworn to forsake Jadis and her ways and to follow Peter and Aslan for all time. They paved roads, erected buildings, built houses… soon, there would be a bustling city surrounding the palace.

Penelope was true to her word, and she solidified her position as the chief general of all Narnia's armies. She spent her time reorganizing the military, transforming it from a loose alliance of rebel troops in civil war to a regular and regimented force of national defense. Dwarvish gunsmiths continued to churn out muskets and cannon, and Penelope made sure that her soldiers were well-equipped and well-trained. She wanted them to be the best in the world.

Lumpkin and Brenawen, who all the dwarves now called king and queen of their people, were invited to come away with various tribes and clans. The Black Dwarves wanted them to rule from the hills north of Beruna, and the Red Dwarves wanted them to come back to Mount Pire. Lumpkin remembered his oath, made so long ago, to reclaim Pire from the goblins and the trolls and to see it become a dwarven stronghold again. So he and Brenawen made the promise that, once Pete was crowned high king, they would go to Pire, cleanse it of all evil, and rule dwarvendom from there.

Phineas and Cynthia couldn't wait any longer. One day, early in the month, Pete happened to mention that the fourteenth of February was a special day for humans: St. Valentine's Day, a holiday dedicated to lovers. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Phineas at once proposed marriage to Cynthia, and she agreed to become his wife on the fourteenth. Pete was elated to host a Valentine's Day wedding at Cair Paravel, and he kept telling everybody that it was "about damn time" for the faun and the nymph to be married. Cynthia's pregnancy was only just starting to show, but of course that couldn't detract from the beauty of the bride. They were wed in the palace's grand hall, Phineas in the garb of a gallant soldier, and Cynthia—her hair once again as white as winter-snow—in a sable gown trimmed with lilies and white rosebuds. Pete himself officiated at the ceremony, a privilege he carried as Count of Cair Paravel. And when they were finally married, and the groom kissed the bride, there was much jubilation. None applauded more loudly than Lumpkin and Brenawen, and even Penelope looked as if she were going to cry tears of joy.

As for Falon and the elvish infantry, they meant to remain in Cair Paravel for a time, for they wished to honor Pete by attending his coronation. Others intended to do the same, as Pete discovered when the ships began to arrive. Soon, Cair Paravel was home to a number of distinguished guests. King Rashiel of Archenland was among the first to appear. Eventually, Tisroc Ardeeb sailed into the port along with a small fleet of Calormene ships, each one carrying an important Tarkaan or Tarkeena. Islander ships came in droves, and Pete had many dear friends and honored guests to greet: Grand Admiral Pwyll, Prince Diarmuid and Princess Cliodhna, and Melusine and the Bards of Narrowhaven. Conspicuously, Queen Morrigan had chosen not to attend. But when Pete met Cliodhna and Diarmuid again, they both assured him that the queen was powerless to harm them now. Diarmuid, it seemed, was regarded as something of a war-hero—in no small part because Admiral Pwyll had had the foresight to reinstate his old naval commission, with a promotion to the rank of commodore, before they had gotten all the way back to the Lone Isles.

"Do you remember how I told you that Diarmuid was a captain in the navy before he turned to piracy?" said Cliodhna. "He was only discharged when Mother found out about his affair with me. But Admiral Pwyll has taken care of all that, and it's worked out for the best. The people of the Sea Kingdom quite liked you, Peter, but they positively love Diarmuid. A Son of Adam is one thing for a prince, but a hero from among their own people is something else entirely."

Pete was happy to hear that everything was working out okay for Clio and Diarmuid. He still wished that things could've been that simple in his own life. But if it wasn't meant to be, then it wouldn't happen. Pete had acquired something of a " _que sera sera"_ attitude since Jadis had been deposed and defeated. And now it was time for him to ascend to the high throne of Narnia—because _this_ was meant to be.


	53. Chapter 53

LUMPKIN was the first person to have met Pete when he had originally come into Narnia, so it was none other than Lumpkin whom Pete asked to place the crown upon his head. He knelt down low, and that most singular of Red Dwarves placed the golden circlet above Pete's brow. All around, the grand hall of Cair Paravel shone with a brilliant morning glow. Rows of centaur knights and faun musketeers stood at attention, their weapons raised in honor of High King Peter I. It wasn't as lavish a ceremony as those he had seen in the Island Kingdom, but it suited Pete nonetheless. There was grandeur aplenty, as far has he was concerned. When Peter stood and Lumpkin moved aside, all the attendees bowed low before their high king—except of course for the distinguished royal visitors. When everybody rose again, Lumpkin stepped forward and proclaimed, "I give you Peter the Magnificent, Count of Cair Paravel, Duke of the Eastlands, and High King of all Narnia!"

A cheer broke out among all in the crowd, and even the honor guard lowered their weapons so that they could applaud. Pete raised his hands and waited for everybody to quiet down. Once silence fell upon the hall, he spoke: "My friends. It's the first of March today. Still wintertime, but at least we know that spring is just around the corner." Polite laughter rippled through the audience. Lumpkin looked up at Pete encouragingly, and the human continued, "It's been a long road coming to this place, and you all honor and humble me by placing this crown on my head and making me your king. Now, as some of you already know, in the country where I come from, we don't have kings. We used to, but now the people rule themselves with elected representatives. You see, where I come from, we hold a firm belief that power doesn't belong in the hands of any one man, and that people are happiest when they can decide their own destinies. Having a king, on the other hand, is kind of like taking medicine: fine when it's necessary, but you wouldn't want to put up with it any longer than you have to." Pete smiled, though perhaps the people in his audience didn't know whether he was joking or not, and so nobody let out even the slightest chuckle at that. Certain guests, like the Calormene nobles, were visibly less than amused. Pete cleared his throat and went on, "Now, maybe Narnia isn't ready for a government like that yet, but I hope that someday soon, she will be. Until that day, though, I'll do everything I can to uphold the trust that you've placed in me. I promise that I won't let you down."

More cheering erupted from the Narnians, but Pete quieted them down again and said, "To that end, I'm going to entrust the rule of Narnia to people that I know and rely on. People who have fought at my side, and who have time and again proven their honor, their courage, their ability, and their loyalty. Phineas of the Western Woods and Cynthia of the Shuddering Woods, come forward."

Phineas the faun stepped forth from the crowd, and he led by the hand his now obviously pregnant wife, Cynthia the dryad. Phineas bowed low, and Cynthia curtsied, but Pete was quick to get them both up again. "None of that," he said quietly to both of them. "Especially you, Kiddo. I might just make it a law: no bowing until the baby comes."

Cynthia giggled a bit and whispered, "I can already feel his hooves kicking against me. Or her hooves; I can't tell that part yet."

Pete grinned and then presented the both of them to the assembled guests. "From this day forth, Phineas, former Marchwarden of the Runners and onetime Colonel of the Rebel Army; and Cynthia, his lovely and accomplished wife; will be the Duke and Duchess of the Westlands—everything west of the Great River and the Archen River are their sovereign lands and their solemn responsibility."

Neither Phineas nor Cynthia had expected anything like this, so it was with stunned minds and dropped jaws that they thanked Pete for their elevation to nobility and excused themselves back to their seats. Pete chuckled to himself at their reaction and then continued, "Lumpkin and Brenawen have already been named King and Queen of Dwarves by their own people, and I can't accord them a higher honor than that. But I can do this for them: henceforth, Lumpkin and Brenawen are also created Duke and Duchess—of all the lands in the south of Narnia. In the hills and mountains between Narnia and Archenland, there are still monsters and other evil things. Are the both of you willing to take charge of these lands, drive out the evil, and make them safe for good people to live in?"

Brenawen came forth and stood next to Lumpkin. "We are, Sire. Thank you."

Lumpkin was speechless and only gaped at Pete, but Brenawen dragged him off the dais.

"Speaking of Archenland," said Pete, "Commander Falon, you're half-elvish. The Archenlanders are your people, and they've accepted you there—but you also have friends in Narnia, and if you ever want it, you've got a home here too."

Falon came forward, bowed stiffly, and said, "Thank you, Your Majesty. But after today, I will return to Anvard with my sister's people. I long to be home again, and for me, Archenland is that home."

Pete nodded to Falon, and then he turned at last to Penelope. The centauress stood near him on the dais, glittering in her knightly armor, her two swords sheathed at her withers. Pete whispered, "What about you, Penny? The Midlands need a ruler too. You could be a duchess. Or even just the Countess of Beruna. Whatever you want."

"I don't want any of those things," said Penelope. "And besides, I thought that you needed me here, as your general."

Pete smiled. "I thought you'd say something like that." Then he turned to the crowd and said, "Last, but certainly not least, General Penelope has served Narnia faithfully, and for that, I name her Countess of the centaur city Beruna and all the lands around it. But since her post as chief General of the Narnian Armies will keep her here in Cair Paravel most of the time, I leave it to Penelope to name a viscount or viscountess to fulfill her duties in Beruna and rule over her people in her stead."

Penelope didn't know what to say. So she knelt down on her forelegs and bowed before Peter. "Thank you, Sire."

Pete scrambled to help her up. "Jeez, Penny, you _definitely_ don't need to bow for me," he whispered. "And quit it with the 'sire' business. Everybody else can call me whatever they want, but you call me 'Pete.' That hasn't changed."

"It's improper, Your Majesty," said the centauress, who blushed at being helped up by the high king in front of everybody in the grand hall.

"Stuff proper. I _could_ just make it a law if I wanted to." Pete stared at the centauress, and she could tell that he wasn't joking.

"Fine, I'll call you by your given name, but not in front of other people," hissed Penelope. "And especially not here and now!"

"Deal," said Pete. Then he stood back from her and went over to the throne. Since the restoration of Cair Paravel, this too had been repaired. The stone was inlaid with gold and ivory now, and a purple cushion made it a whole heck of a lot more comfortable than it used to be. Pete faced his people… and he sat back onto the throne.

A Son of Adam was High King in Narnia. All would be right. Thrice more, the people cheered.

* * *

That evening, Pete stood alone on the balcony of the royal bedchamber, looking out over the Eastern Ocean. Today… today had been unbelievable. There had been the coronation ceremony, and then feasting, and music, and dancing, and general merrymaking… and wine… Pete's head was fuzzy. Tomorrow morning would not be fun. On top of everything, it would be the first day of the rest of his life as High King of Narnia. Mel Brooks used to say, "It's good to be the king," but right now, Pete couldn't disagree more.

"High King Peter."

Pete looked around for the source of the voice. It couldn't be…

Aslan stepped forth from the shadows. "You've fulfilled the first part of your destiny and become king. I'm very proud of you, Peter, and I'm glad that this day has come at last."

"The first part?" said Pete. "What else is left?"

"Now the difficult leg of the journey begins," said Aslan. "You must rule with strength, wisdom, justice, and compassion. No easy task, let me assure you."

"Oh, trust me, I know," said Pete. "Absolute power corrupting absolutely and all that. But I don't plan on doing this forever. Sooner or later, I'll set up a parliament or a congress or something, and I'll help the Narnians stand on their own."

"That's not how this land was meant to be ruled," said Aslan. "There are too many races here, too many different kinds. They need a human being to guide them, because I can't be here to do it myself."

"Why not?" asked Pete. "And how the heck did you come back to life, anyway?"

Aslan only answered, "There are many worlds, and many realities. I am a part of more than just this one."

"More things in heaven and earth than I've dreamt of in my philosophy?" asked Pete.

"Something like that," said Aslan.

Pete leaned on the railing of the balcony and said, "What makes humans so special, anyway? From what I've seen, the people here aren't too different from me. The talking animals… okay, sure, I don't know what's going on there. Some kind of magic spell that I definitely don't understand. But everybody else… they've got human heads, human brains, human thoughts, human souls."

"No," said Aslan. "The human soul is different. The Four Peoples are made from earth, from fire, from water, from air... but you, Peter, have all of these in your makeup, plus a fifth element. Something quintessential."

"I don't believe in medieval alchemy!" said Pete. "If the human soul is made up of anything, it's electrons bouncing around inside brain-cells, not some hocus-pocus fifth element. And what about the other races? Centaurs and fauns and nymphs—they're not any more or less important than I am."

Aslan tilted his head to one side and said, "Nobody ever claimed that they were. Just because some of Narnia's inhabitants are persons, and some are spirits, and some are beasts, that doesn't mean that I love them any less. I take the form of a beast, after all."

"But they rank themselves based on these divisions," said Pete. "And they think that it's a decree from your dad."

"Then show them a better way," said Aslan. "Help them come together. A unified Narnia would indeed be capable of governing itself, just as you dream it someday might be."

"Yeah," said Pete. "I've got a lot of work to do here. But now I know what's got to be done first. I have to bring this country together. So, uh, thanks, Aslan, for… Aslan?" Pete looked around, but the lion was gone.

He had vanished, just as mysteriously as he'd appeared.

* * *

Time passed, and eventually Pete's acquaintances, allies, friends, and loved ones drifted away from Cair Paravel. Tisroc Ardeeb and the Calormenes were the first to leave. Then Cliodhna, Diarmuid, and all of the Islanders departed for the Sea-Kingdom. Eventually, Falon and the Archenlanders left as well. And then only Narnians remained, and they had work to do.

Phineas and Cynthia, now Duke and Duchess of the West, meant to return to Silenopolis. With Count Serpens long gone, and his army of the dead never again to haunt the world of the living, the old city of the fauns wouldn't be a desecrated ruin anymore. They could rebuild it, restore it to its former splendor and prominence. In the days before Jadis, it was said, Silenopolis had been the seat of learning in Narnia and the home of its greatest library. Phineas, who was fond of ancient lore, hoped to make it so again. Pete promised to contribute everything that he knew about science and technology to the effort, which wasn't very much, if the truth be told. But what little Pete knew was enough to astound the faun, just as it always had been. As for Cynthia, her departure from her friends was deeply emotional, but she extracted a promise from all of them to come visit in the summertime, when the baby was due. "Especially you," she said to Peter. "I know that you didn't really want to be king, so this will give you an excuse to take a vacation." Pete agreed, and he made the promise to visit often.

After that, Lumpkin and Brenawen, now Duke and Duchess of the South, departed as well. They were bound for Mount Pire, and with them they took all of the guns and dwarvish soldiers they could. "Because fauns and centaurs are really quite useless in tunnels," Lumpkin explained, "and since we're fighting to make a home for dwarves, dwarves should be the ones who see it done."

"And what about your little house?" asked Pete. "The hovel under the old tree, by the Lamppost?"

"Oh, it's probably become a nest for a family of badgers by now," said Lumpkin, "or overgrown with weeds and vines and who knows what else. Bah. A faun could move into it now, for all that I care."

"That'll be the day," said Pete with a laugh.

After that, the dwarves were gone, and then Pete was left in Cair Paravel with only one person that he could truly call a friend: Penelope. If it had to be one good friend, he was glad to have it be her. Because, God help him, Pete was still in love. Their friendship had been slow to repair itself, not least because Pete was kept very busy anymore, and he didn't have a great deal of time to spend with anybody of his choosing. Ministers, officials, and functionaries, it seemed, made up the bulk of his social circle now that he was king. But time heals wounds, and it dulls pain, and it helps us to forget petty slights and hasty words. Penelope didn't seem to be angry with Pete anymore, and for that, he was grateful. Still, he was afraid. He was afraid that if he shared his feelings, it might cost him something too precious to give up: the hope that she might somehow still feel the same way.


	54. Chapter 54

KING Peter was to dine that night with General Penelope and a faun by the name of Quintus, who had been chosen by the people of the city of Cair Paravel to be its lord-mayor. Quintus was a born bureaucrat and an insufferable bore. He had bushy gray hair; a frazzled look about him, as if he were always busy or distracted; and all the charisma of a nursing-home resident at nap-time. Pete couldn't understand how Quintus had been elected mayor, but he wasn't about to interfere with the will of the people so early into his reign.

With only the three of them there, it wasn't exactly a state dinner, but the faun's presence nonetheless made things more formal than Pete would've liked. As the minutes dragged by, the conversation drifted between such exciting topics as city planning and waste disposal. At last, the elderly faun seemed to have had his fill and said his peace, and so he rose from the table, bowed to Peter, and excused himself.

"Whew," said Pete, once Quintus had left. "That was an ordeal."

"The poor man has a great deal on his mind," said Penelope. " _He_ has to run a city. That's a very difficult job. You, on the other hand, need only concern yourself with fending off all the many noblewomen who look at you and see nothing more or less than the world's most marriageable king."

Pete rolled his eyes. "Give me the mayor's job any day. Do you remember when the Tisroc's party was still in town? That one Tarkeena… what was her name, again?"

"Lasaraleen," said Penelope.

"Yeah, her. She kept following me around, and she just would not shut up!"

"Something of a shameless flirt, wasn't she?" said Penelope. "And the flattery did get a little out of hand."

"And here, I thought she was all sweet on the Tisroc, but I guess Lasaraleen was just another gold-digging mercenary." Pete sighed, leaned on the dinner-table, and gazed at Penelope. "I wish I could just marry you. Then they'd all have to quit bothering me."

Penelope fell silent and stared down at the table-top.

"Oh. Oh, Penny, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"You shouldn't joke about such things," said the centauress. "It's cruel."

Pete sat up and looked Penelope in the eyes. "What if I wasn't joking? What if I was being completely serious?"

Penelope pursed her lips and shook her head. "It's impossible. You and I… cannot happen."

"Why not?" asked Pete. He got up from his seat at the head of the table and walked over to Penelope so that he could sit down next to her. He looked around. There weren't any guards or servants at hand. For the first time in too many days, they were alone together. "I wasn't kidding when I said I was in love with you. I know it's weird, but somewhere along the line, you became more than just a friend to me, Penny. You became the person I want to spend the rest of my life with! Maybe it's wrong, because of what we are. But it's just like Brenawen said when we first met her: you don't choose who you fall in love with. It just happens."

"But it _is_ wrong," said Penelope. "We're too different."

"Do you really believe that?"asked Pete. "If so, please explain it to me, because I don't get how these things work in Narnia! I wasn't born in this world, remember? Do centaurs just not marry outside the species?"

"For the most part, no, we don't," said Penelope. "I'm sure that it must happen, but if so, it's very rare and never mentioned."

"I'll admit, it's a new idea for me too," said Pete. "In fact, all really I have to go on here are _Hercules_ and _Xena_ reruns, so I haven't got a clue. Would people in Narnia really have that much of a problem with you and me being together?"

"Yes," said Penelope. "I believe that they would."

"Well, that's just tough," said Pete, "because they went and made me high king. So they can gossip behind our backs, talk until they turn blue in the face, and it won't make a damn bit of difference! It sure as hell won't change how I feel about you, Penny. Which means that there's really only one question here." Pete swallowed. It was another one of those make-or-break, moment-of-truth times. He hated those. "How do you feel about me?"

Penelope bit her bottom lip and looked into Pete's eyes. "Oh, Peter… it doesn't matter how I feel…"

"Like hell it doesn't!" said Pete. "Either you love me, or you don't! So this is it, sweetheart. No take-backs this time; no do-overs. If you can look me in the eye and tell me that you don't have any feelings for me, I'll drop the subject right now and never bring it up again."

Penelope swallowed and gazed into Pete's eyes, and she tried to answer him in the only way that she knew she must: "Peter, I don't love you." But she couldn't bring herself to say those words. Her voice simply failed her. So she stared at him with an open mouth and said nothing.

And her silence spoke volumes.

"I didn't think so," said Pete. "You _do_ love me."

Penelope nodded. "Yes," she said. "Life can be very cruel sometimes, can't it?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Because, despite what you want from me, I cannot give it to you," said Penelope. "If you ask me to marry you, I will refuse. Ask me a hundred times, and I will refuse a hundred times."

"But, _why_ , for God's sake? I don't understand!" said Pete.

"Many reasons," said Penelope, whose eyes now brimmed with tears. "Many reasons beyond the simple fact that we belong to such different races. _You_ are the High King of Narnia. It's expected that you will save your hand for a foreign princess, to cement an alliance by royal marriage—"

"Excuse me?" scoffed Pete. "Have we met? Do you know me? That's just not going to happen!"

"And in the eyes of my people," Penelope continued, " _I_ am still the lawful mate of Orieus. Every centaur in Narnia considers me his rightful property. And unlike the merfolk, centaurs do not practice divorce."

Pete noticed that in his frustration, his hands had formed tight fists. His fingernails were digging into his palms. He let out a breath and relaxed his hands. "Okay. Another detail. Anything else?"

"Yes," said Penelope. "I still can't trust you to stay."

Pete looked up in surprise. "What? Where else would I go?"

"Back home," said Penelope. "Back to Earth. I know how much you miss your world. If you ever found a way back, you would leave."

Pete sat back and stared at Penelope. Home… he'd been fooled by witchcraft once too often to dare and dream that there really was a way back. But if he found a doorway for real, would he leave Narnia and go back to Earth? Back to New York, back to his old life? Back to his family and humankind? Give up everything that he had fought for in this world? "You're wrong," said Pete at last. To illustrate his point, he took off his crown, bent forward, and showed the top of his head to Penelope. "Take a look. What do you see?"

Penelope just stared at Pete oddly. "Hair."

"I mean right there," said Pete, pointing along the middle of it.

"Gray hair. A streak of gray hair."

Pete sat up and replaced the crown. "Exactly. I've only been in this world for a year and change, but it already feels like I'm growing old here. I've got reasons to stay that I didn't have before. You're one of them. In fact, Penny, you're the main reason that I'm not wandering around the Narnian countryside, trying to find a way back to Earth. I _want_ to stay here and grow old with you!"

Penelope gave a sad smile and said, "Well, that's one thing that you never would have been able to do with Queen Taraiel."

"Nope," said Pete. "And don't go thinking that you're some kind of second choice, or backup plan. You're it for me, Penny. It's you, or nobody. Christ, maybe it was always you…"

"Don't say that," said Penelope. "You loved Tara."

"Sure I did," said Pete. "And, probably, I would've asked her to marry me. But it wasn't in the cards, so it doesn't really matter. This is the here and now. You and me. What do you say?"

"I say… no," said Penelope. "I do love you, but it has to be 'no.' I'm so sorry, Peter."

The centauress rose to leave, but before she could turn away, Pete grabbed her by the arm. "Wait."

Penelope turned. "What?"

And then Pete kissed her. He just threw his arms around her torso and planted a kiss on her full, red lips. He ran his hands through her golden hair, and she grabbed him around the middle and squeezed him tightly as well. Pete and Penelope melted into each other, and their lips parted open, and their tongues danced… and then Penelope pushed Pete away yet again.

"I'm so sorry," Penelope repeated. And she turned and ran. She fled from the dining hall at a full gallop. The clop of her hooves clattered off the marble floors of the palace, echoing as it faded with distance.

Pete was left alone, very confused, very annoyed, and more than a little angry at himself. He mentally kicked himself for slipping up and dropping the ball. It had been too soon to try and start anything, and now he was sure that he'd blown it. He only hoped that Penelope wouldn't run away from Cair Paravel altogether. He wasn't sure what he would do with himself if Penelope weren't even around anymore.

* * *

"I have to go away," said Penelope a few days later.

Pete was in the grand hall, sitting on his throne. A row of faun guards and a small band of ministers and scribes were nearby. There were footmen, valets, and other servants, waiting at hand to do Pete's slightest bidding. (It would be a very long time indeed before Pete got used to that idea.) There were also talking animals of many different species present, most of them simply curious about their new king. They wanted to observe the human and see what he was like.

Pete leaned forward in the throne and asked, "Go where?"

"Beruna," said Penelope. "I have unfinished business there. I still haven't appointed a viscount to represent me."

Pete knew that she had been delaying her choice on purpose, because she didn't want to go back to Beruna again for any reason. But now, apparently, Cair Paravel was even more uncomfortable than Beruna. So she was leaving. "You _are_ coming back, right?" asked Pete.

"Of course I am!" said Penelope. "But I have to see to some personal matters as well. Family business."

"Stuff involving your dad and Oreius."

Penelope nodded. "Just so, my king."

"If you wanted," said Pete, "…I could come along with you."

"I'd rather you didn't trouble yourself, Sire," said Penelope. "I should prefer to see this done by myself."

"Even still," said Pete, "it's three weeks to Beruna, and three weeks back. That's a long way to walk all alone."

"Yes, Sire," said Penelope.

"Just out of curiosity, who are you planning on appointing viscount?" asked Pete. "Anybody I know?"

"Yes." Penelope fidgeted uncomfortably and looked away.

"It's Oreius, isn't it?" said Pete.

Penelope nodded.

"That's… good. He's a good guy. Exactly who I would've chosen." Pete stood up and offered Penelope his hand to shake. "In that case, General… I mean, Countess… good luck. And hurry back."

Penelope bowed, and then she left the throne room to prepare for her journey.

* * *

To his credit, Pete lasted a whole week. Seven entire days passed between the moment Penelope left Cair Paravel and the moment Pete decided that he had to go after her. It was stupid, he thought. Ever since Pete had spilled his guts to Penelope in the dining hall, they walked on eggshells around each other. They exchanged awkward, one-word sentences, like flustered teenagers with schoolyard crushes. The conversation in the throne room, when Penelope had announced her intention to go to Beruna, was the most that they'd spoken to each other since that fateful evening. Pete just couldn't stand to leave things as they were. And he wasn't about to give up on Penelope. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but a man… even Congress hath no stupidity like a scorned man.

So Pete armed himself; and he packed provisions; and just to make sure that he wouldn't be followed by a veritable horde of soldiers and servants all hell-bent on protecting him from imagined dangers and tiny inconveniences, he snuck out in the middle of the night. With nothing but a parchment map and his own experience (which was by now considerable) to guide him, he set out all by himself for Beruna.


	55. Chapter 55

PETE wore a suit of brown and black leather traveling clothes, rugged enough to withstand all the rigors of the road. And though the weather was warm again now, he kept a cloak drawn over his head most of the time while he walked. In the early morning, it kept off the chill and the dew; and as the afternoon wore on, it kept off the sun. Springtime in Narnia was a beautiful thing to behold, though. For the first time in far, far too long, every growing thing in this country was vibrant and green, and animals—both talking and dumb—were everywhere. The intelligent animals would flee from Pete's path as often as they stopped to greet him, but that was understandable, considering that not everyone in Narnia yet knew what a human being looked like. Most, in fact, probably had no idea what to expect of their new high king—and Pete, with his hood drawn, could easily be taken for an elf, or a jinn, or some kind of warlock. This suited Pete well enough, though, because he preferred to travel anonymously. There was no sense in drawing attention to himself, he decided, unless it became absolutely necessary.

As Pete hiked across the country, he also discovered that he had somewhat miscalculated the travel times: it had taken three weeks to march an army between Cair Paravel and Beruna, but armies on foot are slow beasts that creep across the land, whereas a lone traveler can make much better time. So, Pete found, it would be closer to two weeks when he arrived at his destination. And Penelope, he figured, with her four legs and equine endurance, would probably have made the journey even more swiftly. Which meant that she had one hell of a head start.

When Pete at last came to the valley where the rebel army had camped before the Battle of Beruna, he stopped here to rest and regain his strength. He didn't need to ponder or fret or anticipate anymore; two weeks on the road all by himself had taken care of that already. Pete was quite finished with worrying about whether Penelope would be angry at him for following her, or what kind of trouble she might run into with her family. He could deal with that when he arrived and finally tracked her down. None of that mattered at the moment anyway. She loved him—she'd admitted it, in spite of all her misgivings—and Pete would not give up on that. There simply had to be a way that they could be together, centaur or no, high king or no. But first Pete had to convince Penelope to give it—give them—a chance.

* * *

The human kept his cloak drawn tight around himself as he approached the centaur city. Beruna's battered and broken buildings were still undergoing repairs, and the walls hadn't even been touched yet. The city itself seemed quiet—nearly deserted, in fact. But on the plains around the city proper, there were many large camps—collections of tents made from deerskins and other natural materials. The centaurs' tents reminded Pete of Native American tipis, except that they were significantly larger.

Pete walked through the streets of the city, but nobody bothered him or paid him any heed. At any rate, there were simply too few people here to have Pete worried. He didn't think that he would be recognized too quickly as long as he remained in this ghost-town.

After some time, though, he spotted a familiar face: Jocasta, one of the centaur knights from Penelope's company. Instead of returning to Cair Paravel with the rest of the original company, this centauress had chosen to follow Oreius's group back to Beruna. Presumably, she had been here ever since before Pete's coronation. So, quietly, Pete approached her and greeted her.

Upon seeing the human, she reacted with surprise and said, "Lord Peter! Oops—I mean, Your Majesty! When did you arrive in Beruna?"

"Just now," said Pete, "and if it's all the same to you, I'd appreciate it if you could keep this quiet."

"Of course, Sire," said Jocasta. "Is there any way that I can help you with your business here?"

"I'm looking for General Penelope," said Pete. "I made her the Countess of Beruna, and she was supposed to come here and appoint a viscount. She would have arrived more than a week ago."

"Strange," said Jocasta. "I haven't heard anything about that! But the city is fairly quiet these days. Most of my people have followed Creon and moved out onto the plains, to live off the land as our ancestors did."

Pete quirked an eyebrow. " _Creon_ suggested that centaurs should go live the simple life? He doesn't strike me as the type."

Jocasta shrugged. "I don't understand it either. But he dwells in one of the large encampments to the south of the city, perhaps two leagues and a mile distant. General Oreius lives there as well, so if you're looking for General Penelope, that would be the place to start."

Pete thanked the centaur-woman and took her advice. He left Beruna quickly, and he traveled south.

* * *

Following the course of the Rush River, Pete left the city and made for Creon's camp. He didn't get it: why would the centaurs just abandon Beruna? Certainly, they wouldn't need to live there to defend themselves from the witches anymore, but didn't city life have other advantages? Then again, the centaurs were supposed to be a people close to nature—or, at least, that's how they were always portrayed in movies—so maybe this was what they really wanted.

Except, of course, the centaurs of Narnia weren't like movie centaurs, just as the mer-people of the Eastern Ocean didn't have too much in common with movie mermaids. They were physically different, for one thing. The merrows, of course, had those long and powerful tails which allowed them to slither onto the land, something you would never see in a Disney movie. Likewise, Narnia's centaurs weren't so very "Hollywood." They didn't have the hairy torsos and horsey faces that Pete might have expected from watching the _Harry Potter_ movies. And with those pony-sized bodies, they were a whole heck of a lot smaller than actual horses.

Pete had to admit, though, that he didn't know much of anything about centaur culture. All of the centaurs that Pete had ever met were knights and soldiers, and they seemed very urbane. But perhaps they really did prefer the rustic life. He simply didn't know.

When the camp came into view, Pete kept his head low, but he didn't make much of an effort to remain unseen. These were open plains; cover was nonexistent. If they had any sentries at all, he would be spotted from a mile away. So he just walked toward that cluster of deerskin tents, and he hoped that these nature-loving centaurs were still civilized enough to ask questions before they started shooting.

* * *

Two burly, barrel-chested centaurs—neither one wearing armor or covering of any sort—came forth from the camp to stand in Pete's way. "Halt," said one of them. "Who approaches the campsite of Creon, our chief?"

Pete decided that this was a good time to push a little bit of royal authority, so he pulled back his hood and said in his most important-sounding voice, "It is I… High King Peter!"

Then centaurs' eyes widened, and at once they both bowed down. "Your Majesty," said the guard who had spoken, "forgive us our suspicion. We act on the orders of our chieftain, who told us to watch carefully for the approach of strangers."

"I understand," said Pete. "I'm here to speak with Creon, and if they're here, Oreius and Penelope as well."

The two guards looked at each other worriedly. Then the first centaur explained, "They are all here. But there has been some kind of trouble or misunderstanding. Lady Penelope arrived many days ago, claiming that Your Majesty made her the high general of all Narnia's armies, and that she was now the Countess of Beruna."

"That's all true," said Pete. "Penelope already was a general, and I made her a countess on the very day I got crowned king."

"But… Creon supposed that she was telling falsehoods," said the centaur, "and so he has had her arrested for trying to undermine his authority."

"What?" said Pete. "That's ridiculous! Take me to see Penelope, right now!"

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," said the guard. "Chief Creon has ordered us—"

"Never mind what Creon said," said Pete, pointing his finger at the centaur. "I'm ordering you, as High King, to show me where Penelope is. This instant."

"Your Majesty," said the centaur, bowing his head. "Follow me."

* * *

Pete was led the short distance through the camp to the tent where Penelope was being held. As he moved among the centaurs, they all stared at the unexpected visitor, and rumor spread quickly that the Son of Adam, High King Peter the Magnificent, had come among them. Pete noticed that the centaurs no longer wore their armor, and few of them carried weapons. The males were completely uncovered, and the females—at least, most of the females—only went about with a piece of cloth wound around the bust. Pete wasn't familiar enough with centaur custom to know whether they had forsaken clothes because they had moved out of the city, or simply because it was springtime now and the weather was warmer.

The prison tent was guarded by two more centaurs, unarmored but carrying long spears. When Pete approached, they both recognized him, lowered their arms, and bowed. "Is Countess Penelope in there?" Pete asked.

"She is," said one of the jailers.

"Let her come out," said Pete.

The centaur turned about, peeked in past the tent flap, and said something in a low voice. A few moments later, Penelope emerged. She had been stripped of her armor as well, though an immodest scrap of cloth covered her bosom. Her golden hair draped over her bare shoulders, and her white fur shone in the sunlight. Pete thought that she was beautiful, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that she was unharmed. As for Penelope, she only stared at Pete with a mixture of gratitude and despondency.

"You came for me," said Penelope.

"Yeah," said Pete, "but I didn't know that you were in any kind of trouble. What's happened here?"

"I'll explain everything," said Penelope, "but first we have to—"

The centauress was interrupted by the appearance of her father. "What is the meaning of this outrage?" said Creon, who arrived with a number of spear-wielding centaur males. "I told you to keep my daughter confined!"

Pete stepped out from among the guards and approached the elder chieftain. "You had no right to take her prisoner, Creon!" he said. "What in the living hell were you thinking?"

"I am her father!" said the centaur. "I have every right! She either lives in my house or in that of Oreius; and since she has time and again refused her proper mate, she remains subject to my authority!"

"I made her the countess of all these lands," said Pete. "She's in charge. She's your immediate ruler now!"

"Not so!" said Creon. "Centaur laws and traditions are clear. Any power that you have given to this female must devolve unto the male who keeps her. For the moment, that is me. Which makes me the acting Count of Beruna."

Pete snorted with laughter. "Are you kidding me? That doesn't make any damn sense!"

"It is our way," said Creon. "I would not expect you to understand."

"Well try this on for size," said Pete. "I'm king around here and you aren't, so you set Penelope free and let her go where she pleases. Consider that a royal order."

Creon bowed his head condescendingly and said, "As you wish, Your Majesty. But before you take my daughter from this place again, you should be made aware of what has happened here. She has caused us considerable trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" asked Pete, looking back at Penelope. The centauress turned red and hung her head in shame.

Creon sniffed derisively and said, "She had the gall to try and issue a challenge."

"A challenge?" said Pete.

Creon explained, "It is one of our oldest traditions. We centaurs do not permit a mated pair to divorce, but there is one way to dissolve a marriage. When two males dispute possession of a female, they may agree to fight for her hand. One male issues the challenge; and the other must either accept, or forfeit his claim."

Pete mulled this over for a second. "And… Penelope tried to call for a challenge?"

"Yes," said Creon, "but her claim was illegal. A female cannot challenge her own marriage. If we allowed such a travesty, why, our very society would crumble into anarchy!"

Pete turned to Penelope and said, "If you sent this challenge out to Oreius, who did you think was going to fight for you?"

Penelope sighed heavily and admitted, "I said that I would fight for myself. I would rather risk armed combat than remain in a marriage that my _father_ has imposed on me." Penelope spat the word "father" with such contempt that both Pete and Creon appeared taken aback.

Creon said, "Do you see? The very idea, that a wife would choose to do battle with her husband rather than submit to him, as is proper! It would be a shameful crime to allow such a thing, and so I chose to hold my daughter prisoner, rather than risk letting her anywhere near my good son-in-law, Oreius."

Pete looked from the smug face of Creon to the forlorn and ashamed visage of Penelope. He considered the situation, but unfortunately, he didn't see any other way out of it. "A male has to issue the challenge?" he asked.

Penelope's eyes perked up, and she stared at Pete in wonder.

"Yes," said Creon.

"Then… I challenge Oreius," said Pete. He waved a hand in Penelope's direction and said, "I'll fight him for possession of this female."

"No!" said Penelope. "Peter, you cannot!"

Creon's eyes widened in shock, not least when Penelope called the high king by his given name in front of everybody. "That's… I cannot… such a thing… it's utterly impossible!" spat the centaur chief. "You are a Son of Adam! Why would Your Majesty lay claim to my daughter?"

"Never mind that," said Pete. "If I win, she's free? She's not married to Oreius anymore?"

"Obviously, she wouldn't be married anymore," said Creon. "Since Oreius would be dead."

Pete blinked. "What?"

Penelope came forward and explained to Pete, "The challenge is a fight to the death. If you do this, either you or Oreius must die!"

Pete rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in exasperation. "What the heck is wrong with you guys? There are easier ways to split up a marriage than mortal freaking combat!"

"It's not supposed to be an _easy_ way," said Creon. "It's supposed to dissuade such disputes! The challenge is an effective deterrent: it's almost never called. No centaur in his right mind would fight to the death for possession of a mere female."

"Unless he was in love," suggested Pete.

Creon said, "That hardly qualifies as right-minded. True love is borne out of years; not some heady, youthful infatuation."

"Maybe you're right," said Pete. "But then again, maybe you're a whole lot of wrong." He turned to Penelope and said, "I'm doing this. Oreius is a good man, and I don't want to fight him. I sure as hell don't want to kill him. But I will fight to set you free."

"Don't," said Penelope. "It's madness. Let's just leave, and go back to Cair Paravel! My freedom is not worth your life!"

"Yes it is," said Pete. " _You're_ worth it."

"But… Oreius is a great fighter, and you're still just a novice with a sword!"

"Yet another detail," said Pete. "You shouldn't get so hung up on the little things."

Creon interrupted them by saying, "Am I to understand, then, Your Majesty, that you mean to got through with this lunacy?"

"Yes," said Pete. "I'll fight."

"Very well," said Creon. He turned to his people and held up his hands in benediction. "Let the word go forth: Oreius of Beruna, general and warrior, has been lawfully challenged by Peter, High King of Narnia, for possession of the female Penelope. If Oreius accepts, he will do battle with King Peter at sunrise tomorrow morning."

Penelope shook her head at Peter and said, "What have you gotten yourself into?"

"Trouble," said Pete. "Same as always. Lucky thing we're so good at getting out of it."

* * *


	56. Chapter 56

OREIUS waited for Pete by the blacksmith's tent that evening. "You put me in a difficult position, Your Majesty," he said when Pete arrived. "Honor demands that I must accept this challenge. It would go against our every sacred tradition to refuse it. But I dare not raise arms against my king!"

"I know what you mean," said Pete. "It's a very 'rock, meet hard place' kind of situation. But it's you guys' tradition, not mine." While Pete and Oreius conversed, the blacksmith stood nearby, took up one of the spears that would be used in the upcoming fight, and sharpened its edge against a grindstone. Pete watched this operation and then said, "So, how do you want to play this? I consider you a friend, Oreius, and I'm not going to kill you, no matter what the rules say."

"A friend, Sire, would not come between a man and his wife," said Oreius.

"Maybe you should take the hint," said Pete. "Penelope doesn't want to be your wife. For the life of me, I don't know why she's got it in for you, but when a woman like that makes up her mind about something like this, you should probably listen!"

The centaur shook his head. "I cannot. I… I still love her, and I believe that, given time, I could convince her to love me as well."

"Then we've got a problem," said Pete, "because I love her too."

The blacksmith looked up from his work and regarded Pete with a quizzical expression. Then he looked at Oreius and back at Pete again. The two rivals had each folded their arms and now stared menacingly at each other. The blacksmith decided that it would be best not to say anything. He simply took the bundle of sharpened weapons and unobtrusively retreated back into his tent.

"You love her," said Oreius. " _You_ love her…" Pained by the realization, he closed his eyes. "I had suspected as much. And Penelope… she returns your feelings?"

"I think she does," said Pete. "But I can never be sure. She's prone to changing her mind about me every now and again."

"That's more than I ever got from her," said Oreius. He sighed the long-suffering sigh of a victim of circumstance and said, "But no matter. I won't give her up without a fight. If you truly love Penelope, you'll understand why."

"Damn straight, I do," said Pete. "She's something special. And, you're right; she's worth fighting over if anybody is. So," he held his hand out to Oreius, "may the best man win?"

"May the best _centaur_ win," said Oreius, taking Pete's hand and squeezing tightly. "And I promise not to slay you in tomorrow's duel, my liege."

"Gee, thanks," said Pete, rubbing his now-aching hand. "You're all heart."

* * *

As High King of Narnia, Pete was accorded every honor and convenience. In Creon's camp, this meant a tent of his own to sleep in, with all the comfort that coarse blankets and animal pelts could provide. Pete rose early the next morning, just before daybreak. All too soon, the fated hour arrived. In the twilight immediately before the dawn, the human exited his tent and found a myriad of centaurs assembled outside—not just those from this camp, but centaurs from all over the Beruna Plains, and from the city itself as well. Their hero, General Oreius, was to do battle with their High King, the human Peter Pevensie—and over the hand of a centauress, no less, the infamous General Penelope. Needless to say, this was a big deal. It was a sensation and a scandal—a spectacle that people had come from miles around to witness.

The centaurs gathered in a great crowd outside the camp, at the bottom of a gentle slope near the banks of the Rush. Pete didn't dare to guess how many centaurs had shown up to observe this little scuffle, but it was definitely more than a hundred. In the center of the throng, Creon waited with another centaur who would act as a judge and preside over the duel in an official capacity. Oreius was near them, waiting for Pete. Around these three, the other centaurs kept clear of a broad circle of ground—leaving plenty of room for a centaur like Oreius to charge and trample during a fight.

On the edge of the crowd, Penelope waited for Pete. "You can still give this up," she said. "Take back the challenge."

"Why would I do that?" asked Pete, tenderly taking her hand in his.

"Because you can't win. Oreius is bigger than you. He's stronger, faster, and he has more skill at arms."

"Okay. Those are his assets. What about mine?"

"You… don't really have any," said Penelope.

"Yeah," muttered Pete. "If only I had a wheelbarrow and a holocaust cloak, then we'd have something here."

"Human nonsense won't save you this time!" said centauress imploringly. "Please, just come away with me! Oreius could kill you!"

"Hey! Nothing the Dread Pirate Roberts ever said was nonsense! And besides, Oreius and I promised that we _wouldn't_ kill each other," said Pete. "So relax. I'll be fine. And, lest you forget, human nonsense _is_ one of my best assets!—the others being my trademark razor-sharp wit and a little plain old New York attitude."

"I don't think that those things will be enough this time," said Penelope. "This is armed combat! Accidents happen, even when a match is friendly. And I couldn't stand it if I lost you!"

Pete shrugged. "I've got a few more marks in my favor. They may be enough to keep me alive."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Well, for one thing," said Pete, hopping onto the balls of his feet and punching the air like Rocky, "I have all the natural agility of a biped descended from a long line of primates. For another, I've got that special human something-or-other that Aslan called 'the fifth element.' But, just between you and me, if we're going to phrase it in terms of Bruce Willis movies, _Fifth Element_ doesn't hold a candle to _Die Hard._ Corbin Dallas was a cab-driver, see, but John McLane was a cop, like me, so… 'ho-ho-ho,' and 'yippee kai-yay, motherfucker.'"

Penelope crossed her arms and said, "If this were an insanity contest, you would have Oreius beaten already." Then her expression softened into a caring smile and she said, "But, now that I think about it, you do have a knack for accomplishing the impossible. Perhaps you do have a chance."

"Sure I do," said Pete. "We had to take judo classes at the police academy. I got a yellow belt. So, really, I can't lose."

"You're making jokes because you're nervous, aren't you?" said Penelope.

Pete nodded. "You can read me like a book." Then, suddenly, he darted forward, placed his hands on Penelope's cheeks, and kissed her on the lips. And she pulled him close and kissed him back, right in front of everybody. Cries of surprise and the steady hum of intense conversation rippled and eddied through the assembled crowd of centaurs. Pete's action had just confirmed about half a dozen shocking rumors and started a great many more.

In the middle of the circle, both Oreius and the judge looked incredibly flustered. Creon stared directly at Pete, and if looks could kill, the human would be a smoldering pile of ashes right now. Then the centaur chieftain signaled to a drummer, who beat the skin of a large drum several times in a steady rhythm. This caused all the conversation to cease, and the crowd fell silent. Pete walked toward the circle, and the crowd parted to let him through, closing up behind him after he passed.

Creon proclaimed, "All of you here know why we have assembled. Peter Pevensie of Cair Paravel has challenged Oreius of Beruna. The prize is Penelope of Beruna. The battle is to the death."

Pete came forward and looked Oreius in the eyes. The centaur met his gaze with a stern look of his own. Oreius was going to fight his damnedest; that much Pete knew for sure. The centaur meant business. Nobody here was taking a dive for the sake of anybody's feelings.

The blacksmith came forth from the crowd and presented Oreius with two short-hafted spears. Oreius took them both and gripped them low, twirling them like a pair of batons. The smithy presented another pair of spears to Pete, and the human took only one of them. He didn't have a prayer of fighting the way Oreius did.

Then Creon started the fight with a single word: "Begin!" And all at once, the crowd erupted in cheers and shouts: some for Peter; most for Oreius.

Oreius wasted no time. He galloped into a charge and swung the spears in front of himself—swung them like clubs, rather than thrusting with the points. Pete dived to the ground and rolled away, forcing Oreius to turn around and face him (no deft maneuver for any centaur). By the time Oreius had righted himself, so had Pete, and the human swung his own spear like a Louisville Slugger. Oreius blocked the two-handed strike with both of his own spears, and the wooden hafts cracked together with a resounding clatter.

Pete reversed his attack and tried to strike again, but he wasn't anywhere near quick enough. Oreius just twirled his own spears and lashed out twice, one swipe high and one low. Pete could only dive back again, and one of the spearheads slashed through his shirt. "Apologies, Sire!" said Oreius, who then threw all of his bulk into a bum's rush and slammed his shoulder into Pete's chest. The human was thrown off balance and fell to the ground. A gasp rose from the crowd.

Oreius swung one of the spears overhead, forcing Pete to hold up his own weapon with two hands to block the strike. Then, with another quick swipe from his second spear, Oreius managed to disarm Pete… but as the human dropped his own spear, he grabbed the hafts of both of Oreius's, just beneath the spearheads. Oreius tugged, but Pete held fast, and the centaur's pull only managed to help Pete to his feet, if awkwardly. Then Pete kicked forward with one of his feet, slamming the centaur in the middle, just under the waistline where the human shape transitioned to a pony's body—and, incidentally, where the centaur's lungs were located. Winded, Oreius let out an "Oof!" sound and dropped both of his spears; but Pete couldn't hang onto them either, so he just rushed at Oreius again with his fists flying.

Pete threw everything he had into a hard right hook and connected with the centaur's jaw. Oreius responded with a haymaker, which hit Pete right in the breadbasket and caused him to double over. Then Oreius whirled around and tried to kick out with his rear hooves; but Pete saw that coming from a mile away and hit the dirt. He kicked straight up with both his feet and caught Oreius in his equine ribcage. Winded again, the centaur backed away, and Pete scrambled to his feet.

Now both combatants were breathing heavily and soaked in sweat. Oreius wasn't wearing much in the way of clothing, so he wasn't bothered by this as much as Pete. Pete, though, pulled off his torn and soiled shirt, revealing an upper body which had grown significantly more muscular since he'd arrived in Narnia and become something of a warrior. Then both fighters heard the voice of Penelope—calling Peter's name. The centauress had fought her way to the edge of the circle, and now only a couple of guards stood between her and the dueling ground. "Peter!" she was saying.

Pete turned and caught Penelope's eyes. What was it that he saw? Worry? Pride? Hope? He couldn't say. The exertion and the adrenaline had him on edge and unable to focus on anything but the fight.

Oreius saw it too—the way that Pete and Penelope looked at each other. He didn't understand it. It made him sad. And then in made him angry. Why the human over him? Because the human was a king? It certainly couldn't be because he was a better man, or because he'd be a more loving husband. And how could a human love a centauress, anyway? Oreius's face twisted with rage. He picked up one of the spears and approached Pete.

Pete, though, was still looking at Penelope, trying to figure out what she meant to tell him. Then the centauress's expression turned to one of horror, and she pointed at Oreius. "Look out!" she cried, though her voice was still drowned out by the crowd.

Pete turned and faced Oreius again, and just in time, because the centaur was upon him. Oreius pulled back his fist and punched, clocking Pete on the side of the head. The human was stunned, and he fell to the ground in a daze. Then Oreius raised up the spear, and the crowd fell silent, eager in its anticipation…

And Oreius couldn't bring himself to do it. Of course he couldn't kill his king. He threw down the spear.

Pete struggled to stand and spat up blood. No loose teeth yet, but still, that blow had been one heck of a ringer. Oreius waited patiently while Pete rose to his feet. Once the human had righted himself, the centaur lashed out again, fighting with naught but bare knuckles. But Pete put up both of his arms to block the punches, though it bruised and numbed them to do so. Then he jabbed, and he gave as good as he got—Oreius took a blow to the head as well. Now boxing in close quarters, they exchanged several more dire strikes before finally splitting up again and keeping their distance.

Oreius spat some blood of his own onto the ground. Pete reached up and felt his left eye, which was now a painfully tender, black-ringed shiner. But Oreius wasn't finished, and once again, he galloped at Pete, his arms outstretched. He meant to grapple the human and wrestle him to the ground—with the centaur's superior size and strength, that would end this match quickly. But Pete had an unexpected trick up his sleeve: a yellow belt in judo. Reacting largely on instinct, he lowered his center of gravity, caught Oreius by the wrists, and pulled with all his might.

The centaur tumbled overhead, crashing bodily into Pete. They both fell to the ground in a heap… and Oreius didn't get up again, but Pete did. The human scrambled to retrieve a spear, and as he did so, Oreius opened his eyes and looked up at the human in a daze.

"Knocking me down while I wasn't looking," said Pete, panting heavily, "was a cheap shot."

Oreius remained on the ground, focused on the spear in Pete's hand. He said, "End it."

And so Pete took the spear in two hands, and he stared intently into Oreius's eyes, and he let out a primal cry… and he jammed the spearhead into the ground.

"What is this?" said Creon from the sidelines. "One of you must finish the battle! Tradition demands it! The law demands it!"

But Pete only offered his hand to Oreius and helped him to rise. "I don't think so," said Pete. "See, this is just like that one episode of original series _Trek_ , where Kirk and Spock had to fight to the death over Spock's wife, but they just couldn't kill each other, because they were friends. I won't kill Oreius!"

The centaur got back onto his hooves and said, "Neither will I raise another hand against my king. This fight is over…" Oreius turned and gave Penelope one final, hopeful look… but the centauress was only looking at Pete with deep concern painted on her face. "…I yield to King Peter. I withdraw my claim on Penelope of Beruna."

Creon stared at Oreius angrily. "So be it," he said. And the chieftain left without another word. The crowd parted to let him pass, but nobody followed him. Everyone but Creon remained there to watch the judge come forward and pronounce Pete the winner.

Penelope now pushed her way past the guards and caught Pete in a fierce embrace. She hadn't forgotten Oreius, though, and she looked over to him and said, "Thank you. For being honorable."

Oreius simply nodded; and then he turned and left. He couldn't bear to watch Penelope and Peter together. And he preferred to suffer his heartbreak alone.

As for Peter, he was only barely still on his feet. He swooned, and Penelope held him up. Pete laughed bitterly and said, "I guess if I threw up my arms and shouted, 'Yo, Adrian!' right now, you wouldn't have any idea what I was talking about."

"No," said Penelope, "but I wouldn't care." She smiled and touched her lips to his cheek—very gently, because Pete had several cuts and bruises on his face. Then, carefully, she helped the human climb onto her back, and she bore him away from the dueling ground and the crowd of astonished centaurs.

* * *

Carefully setting Pete down on the bedding in his tent, Penelope stroked his hair and said, "You mad, wonderful human. I'll never be able to thank you enough for what you've done."

Pete laid back and looked up at the beautiful face of the centaur-woman. "Yeah. I've set you free. You're not married anymore."

Penelope tilted her head and said, "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. I beat Oreius, so he's not your husband anymore, and now you're free to marry whoever you want." Pete looked off to the side, staring at the deerskin wall of the tent, so that he wouldn't have to meet Penelope's eyes.

But the centauress shook her head and said, "No. According to centaur custom, you've won me. You are my husband, and I am your wife."

"Penny… I'm not going to force this on you if you don't want it. And I think you've made it pretty clear that you don't wa _gumph_ —" Pete was cut off when Penelope leaned down and kissed him again. Pete's eyes welled up with tears, not from emotion, but because Oreius had given him a split lip with one of those left jabs. When they finally broke the kiss, Pete said, "You know I love it when you kiss me, babe, but… _ow_!"

The centauress smiled down on the human and said, "I love you, Peter."

"I love you too," said Pete. "But… do you really think that we can make this work? People are going to talk…"

"Let them talk," said Penelope. "And quit teasing." She lay down on top of the furs and blankets and snuggled up next to Pete. He took her into his arms.

"You know," said Pete, "this makes you the Queen of Narnia now."

Penelope's eyes widened. "I'd forgotten!" Then she said to Pete, "When we get back to Cair Paravel, what are we going to tell everybody?"

"I don't know," said Pete. "How about, we fell in love and ran away together so that we could elope?"

"You don't want a royal wedding? With all of our friends?"

"Already had one of those," said Pete, recalling the Island Kingdom. "I like this better."

"Me too," said Penelope. They fell silent for several more minutes, simply enjoying the closeness and the company.

Then Pete said, "I've got to ask, Penny: why me over Oreius? He seemed like an all-right guy. Why did you run away in the first place?"

"I don't know," said Penelope. "I just… never wanted my father to decide my destiny for me. I wanted… something better. I wanted to fall in love with a man like Cyrus… or you. Someone kind… and witty… and, I don't know, different from what everybody expects."

"Different. I am that," said Pete with a laugh. "But… if you had been allowed to fight… could you have killed him?"

"No!" said Penelope, shocked. "How could you even say such a thing?"

"Sorry," said Pete. "I didn't mean to suggest… sorry…"

Then Penelope closed her eyes and admitted, "But I _was_ prepared to loose the challenge. I could have let Oreius free himself by… by…"

"By killing you?" said Pete. He shook his head. "He wouldn't have done that."

"I'd have begged for it," said Penelope. "Better to die than let Creon win."

"Creon is probably thrilled right now. Guy gets to tell everybody that he's the High King's father-in-law. But I think we're going to have to do something about him," murmured Pete. "And, incidentally, now that you're queen, it's high time Beruna got a noble to rule over it. How does 'Oreius, Count of Beruna and Duke of the Midlands' sound to you?"

"I think it sounds wonderful," said Penelope. Then a wicked and sultry look crept into her eyes and said, "You know, this is our first night together as a mated couple. You once tried to shock me by suggesting that a human male wouldn't 'measure up' to a centaur…"

"I know," said Pete. "But we humans do have a saying. Something about how it's not the size that matters…"

"I think we'll manage just fine," said Penelope.

And, some time later, Pete couldn't help but agree.


	57. Chapter 57

PETE and Penelope spent their first night together in that camp on the Plains of Beruna, and it was, to say the least, out of the ordinary. The sheer, physical mechanics of their activities were awkward at the outset, and there was much clumsiness and lighthearted laughter on both sides. But nothing about it was strictly impossible, by any stretch of the imagination; and eventually they found their rhythm. One might say that the two lovers arrived at a mutually satisfying understanding.

The next morning, they decided to depart Creon's camp in a hurry. Neither Pete nor Penelope wanted to remain there any longer than they were obliged to. But before they could leave, they had to track down Oreius, which wasn't difficult. The centaur had remained in the camp, brooding about recent events and the unexpected turn that his life had taken. Pete made a point of publicly creating Oreius the Duke of the Midlands, declaring before all the gathered centaurs that the newly-made noble was to be their ruler from that day forth. Oreius was more than a little surprised, but he accepted the responsibility and reaffirmed his fealty to the high crown of greater Narnia. And Pete and Penelope both got the supreme pleasure of seeing the horrified look on Creon's face when his power as elder chieftain was suddenly and irrevocably rendered meaningless by royal decree—for the transformation of the Midlands into a duchy meant that Oreius would now have all the power formerly ascribed to Creon.

After that, the High King and his new bride left Beruna together. It would be a little more than two weeks' journey back to Cair Paravel, but since it was just the two of them—and, effectively, Pete and Penelope's honeymoon—they decided to take the trip home at a more leisurely pace. That way, they would be able to arrive at many more understandings.

* * *

The Eastlands were perhaps the safest of places in all Narnia these days, since the country around Cair Paravel was well patrolled by soldiers. Penelope had seen to that, long before Pete had been crowned king. But with Pete's sudden and unexplained disappearance from the royal palace, a little over a month ago, Cair Paravel had been thrown into a positive tizzy. In his rush to leave without being discovered, Pete had neglected to leave any word or notice of where he was going, so the people living in Cair Paravel had no idea whether he had gone away of his own accord or been kidnapped.

As it happened, one morning, a patrol of faun soldiers stumbled across their king and their general while the two were in a rather compromising position. The Great River (of which the Rush was a tributary) had many small creeks and streams that fed into it, all the way down from the highlands in the west of Narnia to the lowlands along the eastern shore, and it was in one of these streams that Pete and Penelope had decided to bathe together. That morning, they were but a days' short hike to Cair Paravel, and they wanted to wash off the dust and grime of the road before entering the city. But as they bathed, one thing led to another, and, well…

"Oh, yes, another one!" said Penelope.

"Already?" said Pete.

"Yes, indeed! You've explained these 'movies' to me countless times before, but I'd had no idea how entertaining the stories were!" The stream was cold, but pleasantly so, and the centauress swam with the water up to her shoulders. Pete was a few feet away, enjoying the sensation of floating with the stream's lazy current. The human's clothes and the centaur's armor were spread out on the riverbank, waiting for their owners to reclaim them.

"Didn't I tell you so?" said Pete. "All right, well, I've already gone through _The Lord of the Rings._ That one was a book, by the way, before it was ever a movie."

"I liked how you did Sméagol's voice," said Penelope. "He must have been a very strange creature."

"Yeah, he was a pretty weird little guy. 'Like Yoda he was, mm, yes.' Hey, that's it! I've got to tell you _Star Wars_ next!" And so, excitedly, Pete began to recite what he could remember from that movie trilogy, starting with "A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…" and then explaining every little detail that Penelope couldn't understand, like what "galaxies" and "droids" and "blasters" were.

Penelope was delighted by the story of the two mechanical men, one prissy and golden and the other spunky and cylindrical, and the strange message from the mysterious girl that they had to carry to Obi-Wan Kenobi. Pete was just getting up to the point in the story where Luke and Threepio followed Artoo out the Jundland Wastes and met up with old Ben Kenobi, when he was interrupted by a startled shout from up on the riverbank. "It's him! It's High King Peter! I've found him! Come quickly, everybody! High King Peter is alive and well!"

Perhaps because he had _Star Wars_ on the brain, Pete couldn't resist muttering, "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Feeling?" said Penelope. "I _know_ this isn't going to go well."

Then, from among the bushes, there emerged a small battalion of faun troops. And the lead faun, the one who had called to the others, only now noticed that Pete and Penelope were swimming together. Embarrassed, he said, "Oh… my. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Your Majesty, but… you've been missing from the castle, and we've been looking everywhere for you!"

Pete lowered himself into the water up to his neck and said, "And now you've found me. Congratulations. Go away."

"But… Your Majesty, aren't you coming back to Cair Paravel?"

"Yes!" said Pete. "Just as soon as you take your company and get out of here, so that we can come out of the water and make ourselves decent!"

"Ah… I understand. Once again, I beg Your Majesty, forgive me." The flustered faun bowed low and then hustled his staring and snickering fellow soldiers away from the riverbank.

Pete gave Penelope a worried look, but the centauress only smirked. "Well, that settles the question of how we'll break the news," she said. "In a day or so, everybody in Narnia will know."

Pete answered in a deadpan, "Yippee skippy."

* * *

Once they were dried and clothed, Pete and Penelope came away from the river and found the fauns waiting for them. Pete didn't bother mincing words. He stood up on a stump and said, "You guys look curious, so I'll make this short. General Penelope is now Queen Penelope. We're married."

In reaction to this announcement, the fauns stared at Pete for several beats, as if they were all silently weighing whether their king were joking or not. Then one of them cheered and applauded, and soon all of the soldiers were congratulating the happy couple.

Pete broke away from the soldiers and whispered to Penelope, "They like you. So much for old grudges and bad blood between fauns and centaurs."

"They're fauns," said Penelope. "Satyr-folk. They're quite used to the idea of mixed marriages. But other Narnians won't be so accepting."

"We can cross those bridges when we come to them," said Pete.

After that, they returned to Cair Paravel in style, with a full escort of faun musketeers. A few hours later in the day, the great palace by the sea could be seen, its towers peeking out above the treetops. They marched through the city streets, and as they did, Pete ordered the fauns to disperse among the people like criers and spread the news that High King Peter had brought his bride home with him—General Penelope of Beruna was now Queen in Narnia.

* * *

The reaction from Cair Paravel was lukewarm. Of course the dwarves and the nymphs and the animals of Narnia all came to congratulate Peter and Penelope on their nuptials, but for the most part, it was a great show of politesse and affectation. Several noblewomen of the Islands, Calormen, and even Archenland who had arrived during the month of Pete's absence now made hasty excuses and departures—much to Pete's relief and delight. The truth of the matter was, Pete didn't particularly care how the Narnian people took the news of his marriage to Penelope. He was the only Son of Adam they had, so it wasn't like they could just choose another high king. But there was one matter that did have Pete a little worried: he didn't know how his closest friends would react. Phineas, Cynthia, Lumpkin, Brenawen, Falon, Diarmuid and Cliodhna… he would have to send messengers to deliver the news.

"I wouldn't worry," said Penelope. "At the worst, they'll be sorely grieved at not having been invited to the wedding." She and Pete lingered in the throne room, long after a bevy of officials, ministers, and well-to-do citizens had come and presented themselves in order to pay their respects to the King and Queen.

"Do you think we should explain that in the letters?" asked Pete. "'Dear friends, sorry you weren't invited to my fight-to-the-death-at-sunrise for Penelope's hand in marriage?'"

"Hmm. Yes, perhaps it might be best to save that part until we see each other next," said Penelope.

"Speaking of that," said Pete, "we need to plan a trip to Silenopolis soon. If we don't, Finny and Kiddo'll never forgive us."

Penelope smiled. "What is it with humans and nicknames, anyway?"

"We're lazy," said Pete. "We don't like to pronounce too many syllables."

"And yet, you never cease talking."

"Oh, that's not all humans. Just me, baby."

* * *

That night, the king and queen retired to the royal bedchamber and stress-tested the royal bed, just to make sure that it would support their combined weight. Thankfully, there were neither accidents nor injuries. But, long after Penelope was spent and sleeping, Pete lay awake. He didn't know where the strange insomnia came from: he was exhausted, he was contented, and so he should have had no trouble drifting off to dreamland. But something compelled him to rise from the bed, put on a nightshirt, and walk out onto the balcony.

Aslan awaited him there.

Pete recognized the great lion at once and said, "Fancy meeting you here."

"Peter." The lion's voice was stern and booming.

Pete asked, "Is there a problem?"

"Yes," said Aslan. "She rests in your bedchamber, yonder."

Pete looked over his shoulder at the centauress, who rested peacefully beneath the bedcovers. She rolled over once, and her arm reached for the spot where Pete had lain a few moments ago. He turned back to Aslan and said, "I don't see any problems there."

Aslan shook his head and said, "Peter, this was not meant to be. It is not why I restored Baelin and Penelope to life."

"Hey, that reminds me," said Pete, "what ever happened to Baelin, anyway? We haven't seen him since."

"I stripped him of that dark power that the witch had bestowed, and I sent him back to Earth," said Aslan. "Back to his own time, where he yet had a role to play in your world's history."

"You just… sent him on back home," said Pete.

"Yes," said Aslan.

"And… did he want to go back?"

"Yes," said Aslan. "I gave him the choice, and he chose wisely. He thought that you would make a better king. But now… now you, too, have another choice."

"And what would that be?" asked Pete.

"Forsake the centaur. Return to Earth. Make way for another human to come here and rule Narnia."

"And if I say no?"

"It is not my will to force a decision upon you," said Aslan, "but you must know that there will be consequences, no matter what you choose to do."

Pete considered Aslan's offer… for about a tenth of a second. "I can't leave her," said Pete. "I love Penelope. And I don't care if anybody thinks it's wrong, because she's not human enough, or whatever else. She's human enough for _me_ , and that's all that matters."

"So be it," said Aslan, "but know this: the line of Pevensie kings must begin and end with you. So long as you should remain in this world, no Son of Adam or Daughter of Eve will issue from your union with the centaur, and your legacy will fail. Another human, one not of your blood, will someday ascend to the high throne of Narnia."

"For some reason," said Pete, "that doesn't bother me in the least." In truth, these were only words of bravado. He didn't really care about the throne, or the crown, or whose descendants would be king. But the idea that he and Penelope might not be able to have children… that cut Pete to the quick.

"Do not presume that you can avoid this destiny," said Aslan. "I know that you someday wish to abolish monarchy in Narnia and institute democracy in its place. But all I have spoken shall come to pass, regardless of what you do."

"Understood," said Pete. "Are we done here?"

"We are," said Aslan. "And this is the last time that we shall meet in this place. You'll not see me again in this lifetime."

"That doesn't bother me either," said Pete caustically. "I wonder why."

Then Aslan opened his mouth and _roared_. He roared in Pete's face; and the human felt the lion's hot breath blow across his cheeks and hair, and he heard the deafening noise ring in his ears…

And he gasped and sat up in the bed. Pete wasn't on the balcony at all. He was under the covers, still next to Penelope, who had slept undisturbed the entire time. Had it all been a dream? Somehow, Pete didn't think so. He looked down at his wife, her beautiful face smiling as she slumbered, her golden hair draped over the pillow. She was worth it, Pete thought. He'd even give up Earth for her.

* * *


	58. Chapter 58

IT would be wrong to say that Pete and Penelope had an easy road ahead of them. Their relationship had always been rocky, after all, so peace and quiet and living happily ever after would have probably proven disappointing anyway. But peace did reign in Narnia—for one full year following Penelope's return to Cair Paravel as Pete's queen. For the duration of that year, they ruled Narnia together, and they ruled well. Much of the land was still full of danger in those days, and so, rather than concerning themselves with improving the lives of the citizens as Pete might have wished, they had to devote a great deal of their attention to stamping out the remnants of the White Witch's armies—hags, giants, werewolves, devils, and other such monstrosities.

Pete's skill as a warrior continued to grow, and he lived up to his reputation as "King Peter the Magnificent"; while Penelope, though she always carried herself like a soldier, came to be known at court as "Queen Penelope the Gentle." But if one were to visit any of the taverns or dockside dives common in Cair Paravel—where the Narnian citizens were known to be rough, bawdy, and supremely patriotic—then one would hear the common folk refer to their beloved rulers as "Mad King Pete and Good Queen Penny." Needless to say, Pete never failed to get a kick out of that.

* * *

THE dwarves made astonishingly rapid work of clearing the monsters from the Southlands. By coordinating her maneuvers with Falon of Archenland, Brenawen Dwarf-Queen led her people to victory after victory against the goblin and hobgoblin tribes. With dwarves attacking from Narnia in the north, and elves from Archenland in the south, the monstrous tribes were eventually driven completely into the Red Mountains, and then back to Mount Pire alone, where they were surrounded and trapped. By the time the dwarves and elves were ready to launch their final pincer attack on the mountain stronghold, the reputations of the troll-slayers Lumpkin Dwarf-King and Falon Half-Elven, had already preceded them. Rather than face such fearsome foes, the creatures beneath the mountain chose to evacuate the dwarven mines. They fled deep underground, down into the very bowels of the world, and it became a rare thing indeed to see a goblin or a troll while that age persisted.

* * *

AS for the new rulers of the Westlands, Duke Phineas and Duchess Cynthia did indeed rebuild the old faun city, and there in Silenopolis did they dwell ever afterward. The ancient evil fled from the forests, and the Western Woods became a safe and wholesome place once more. Farther to the west, in the Western Wilds and the Lantern Wastes, monsters still lurked and dangers were many, but fauns and nymphs and most animals never went into those places.

As promised, King Peter and Queen Penelope made the journey to Silenopolis when it was time for Cynthia to bring her child into the world. Of course Phineas and Cynthia were thrilled to learn that Pete and Penny had wed—though perhaps their elation was somewhat tempered by surprise. Certainly, if they had ever suspected the human and the centauress of having feelings for each other in the early days surrounding the War, they never let onto it. But now, regardless of what they might have thought before, they couldn't be happier for their dearest friends and onetime comrades-in-arms.

Cynthia gave birth to a healthy baby boy-faun, and she named the newborn "Vertumnus," a word which meant "the changing of the seasons" in one of the old tongues of fauns. She wanted to commemorate the fact that her son had been born in the first year after the end of the thousand-year winter. Of course, King Peter decided immediately that the baby's name was just a little bit too long, and so he christened his little godson with a nickname by dropping that superfluous first syllable.

* * *

**...**

* * *

IT was in the middle of the second year of High King Peter's reign that trouble returned to Narnia—a series of events that sparked the final episode in this portion of our chronicle. The tale begins on a day of celebration: the first anniversary of Pete and Penelope's unorthodox wedding. After they married, the King and Queen of Narnia were dismayed to discover that relations with rulers of other countries—Rashiel of Archenland, Morrigan of the Islands, and especially Ardeeb of Calormen—frosted over quickly. Tisroc Ardeeb, it seemed, had a particularly low opinion of Penelope and of centaurs in general, and in any case, the Calromene Empire had little reason to remain on friendly terms with Narnia. As for Archenland and the Islands, it was perhaps the case that both King Rashiel and Queen Morrigan resented the lost opportunity to forge an alliance through royal marriage with the High King of Narnia—but then again, perhaps they thought that by marrying Penelope, Pete was slighting either Taraiel's memory or Princess Cliodhna herself. But Pete knew that this wasn't true, and certainly those who mattered most to him didn't think so—not Taraiel's brother Falon, and certainly not Princess Cliodhna or Prince Diarmuid.

As it happened, Cliodhna and Diarmuid chose to attend the anniversary celebration, though Queen Morrigan sent only a curt message of refusal. Diarmuid was in especially low spirits, though, due to personal reasons. As he explained it, "My mother-in-law might be my queen, but she grows more demanding and insufferable by the day! In order to please her, I have been forced to take elocution lessons, to learn how to speak like a prince—and now my old crew can barely understand a word I say!"

Cliodhna only laughed at this speech and said to Peter, "He's exaggerating, of course. His men can understand him; only, now that he's in the habit of speaking properly, they do tease him mercilessly for it."

"Tease, how?" asked Pete.

"They do _impressions_ of me," said Diarmuid resignedly. Slipping back into his old accent, he said, "I cannae hope ta take it much longer…"

After that, Cliodhna offered her heartfelt congratulations to Pete and Penelope both, and the Princess and Prince of the Sea Kingdom followed the King and Queen of Narnia into the grand dining-hall of Cair Paravel. There, they met the other honored attendees: Lumpkin and Brenawen, rulers of dwarvendom and the Southlands; Duke Phineas of the Westlands, who had left his wife and infant son back in Silenopolis; and Duke Oreius of the Midlands, whose attendance had been something of a surprise to the rulers of Narnia.

Of course there were many entertainments to accompany the feasting, like musicians and acrobats and things of that sort. There weren't any court jesters, though, because Pete simply couldn't stand that style of humor—he was too used to ordinary American standup comedy to get any kind of rise from the slapstick and putdown humor of a medieval jester. "Why would I want some schmuck in a coxcomb making fun of me to my face?" Peter would say. "It might be funny to let Don Rickles or maybe Triumph the Insult Comic Dog have a go at me, but really nobody else." The dinner conversation was pleasant enough at the outset, and it stayed centered on light topics; but as the night drew long, so too did the moods of the partygoers, and eventually weightier matters emerged.

"I forgot to ask, Finny, how's the little bean-sprout doing?" Pete said at one point.

"A fitting description," said Phineas, "since he seems to grow by about an inch a day. Soon, Cynthia and I shall truly have our hands full."

"Ain't that the truth," said Pete. "Toddlers… whew. I remember when my niece and nephew, Susan's kids, were that age… and, jeez, did they get into _everything_." Suddenly nostalgic, Pete fell silent, and he seemed to go elsewhere for a moment.

"This always happens when he thinks of Earth," said Penelope to the others. Then she took Pete's hand and squeezed it tightly. Pete squeezed back. "You miss your home," said Penelope.

"This is home," said Pete. "But I do miss my family. The rest of my family, that is."

The table fell silent as thoughts turned to loved ones lost and places left behind. Then Lumpkin cleared his throat and said, "High King Peter, I understand that the northern borders are giving you some trouble again. The giants of the Ettinsmoor have grown restless?"

Pete remained quiet, but Penelope answered for him. "Yes, it's true. We've been considering a full campaign, but…"

"But I'd rather not get us involved in another war," said Pete. "It's too soon."

"With respect, Your Majesty, I disagree," said Oreius. In the intervening year, the centaur who was now Duke over the country's central plains had remained involved in military matters, as befit a former general of the rebellion. The Northlands were as much a problem for Oreius's territories as they were for the lands around Cair Paravel, and the centaur had been forced to devote a great deal of attention to securing his northern borders. Most of his attention had been given over to this task, in fact, and he still had yet to remarry. Though the duke had received many offers from other centaurs in Beruna—fathers who wanted their daughters well-matched with a noble lord and royal favorite—Oreius had rejected all of them. He really was a romantic at heart, and he was firmly set on the notion that he would not marry until he found someone who made him feel the way that Penelope used to. But none of this did he disclose to his king and queen, of course. He only wished to discuss the military issue.

"How so?" asked Pete.

"Something is stirring in the north which grows in strength," said Oreius. "Raids and attacks have become more frequent, more organized. Your Majesty… it could be the White Witch, making another grasp for power."

Pete sighed. "Penny?"

"Oreius is right, Peter. We cannot simply defend our borders and ignore the threat."

"I was hoping that we'd have more time," said Pete.

"I know," said Penelope, still holding his hand. "But the army has recovered all its strength since the Battle of Table Hill, whereas our foes are still marshalling, still organizing. We should strike sooner rather than later. It increases our chances of success."

"You're talking about a preemptive attack," said Pete. "Hit them before they hit us."

"It is the best option, Sire," said Oreius.

"Phineas, Brenawen, what do you guys think of this?" said Pete.

The dwarf-woman answered right away, "It sounds reasonable to me. No sense in waiting for the enemy to grow more dangerous."

Phineas, though, only said, "I have no advice for you, my king. But if war is your chosen course of action, I will join you without hesitation."

"Of course you have our support as well, whatever you choose to do," interjected Cliodhna, and Diarmuid nodded his agreement.

Pete fell silent for several moments, considering the matter. Then, at last, he said, "Okay. You're right. The witches and warlocks live up north, and we can't take the risk that one of them might come to power again. Especially Jadis. So we'll go to war." It was a sad decision, and a reluctant one on Pete's part, but it was the only choice he felt he could make.

"It's the right thing to do," said Penelope. "We fight to protect the people of Narnia."

"For Narnia!" said Lumpkin, raising a wine-glass. And everybody else repeated the toast, except for Pete. Pete got up from the table and went away, leaving Penelope saddened and the guests discouraged. Penelope hastily excused herself and followed him.

* * *

Queen Penelope chased after King Peter, who she supposed must have retired to their bedchamber. As she walked through the halls of Cair Paravel, her hooves echoed off the marble floors like they always did, and she passed several tall mirrors that reflected the image of a beautiful centaur woman with a tiara on her golden head and a soft, green gown that clung tightly to her bust and waist before it swept back and draped loosely over her withers and haunches (though the yellow of her pony's tail peeked out from beneath the back of it). She walked through the corridors that she had come to know so well in her time here—this castle that had become her home, a fact that had never entered into her wildest dreams before she'd met Pete and which still managed to astound her. Then again, even after Pete had come into her life, she hadn't dared to dream that he would love her, marry her, and make her the Queen of Narnia.

She found her husband where she expected to, on the balcony that overlooked the Eastern Ocean—the place where, Pete claimed, Aslan had twice appeared to him. "What troubles you, my love?" she asked.

Pete turned around. "Penny… I've got a funny feeling about this business in the north. Like… something terrible is about to happen, and I can't tell what it is… but it's coming for me, or for you, or for somebody we both care about." He came away from the balcony railing and placed a hand on Penelope's cheek. "I have this awful premonition, like I'm going to lose you."

Penelope kissed her husband on the forehead and said, "You're not going to lose me, Pete. I'll promise it. We will always be together, and when we must fight, we'll fight at each other's side. Do you remember, not long after we met, the very first battle we faced together?"

Pete laughed. "The skirmish with the wolves. At the beaver dam. I was still injured, and you carried me into battle on your back."

Penelope smiled. "We, um…" she searched for the right human colloquialism, "made 'one hell of a team,' didn't we?"

"Hell on wheels," chuckled Pete. "Or horseshoes, as the case may be." 

"That's how I always want us to be," said Penelope. "Together. Close enough to touch. Close enough that if you fall, I can pick you up and carry you away."

Pete smiled wistfully and said, "I can't do the same for you."

"Then it's a good thing I'm the better warrior," said Penelope. "I'll just have to take extra care for the both of us."

Pete followed Penelope back into their bedchamber, but he still seemed bothered. "This war…" he said. "I know it's necessary, but I don't have to like it."

"Who _likes_ going to war?" said Penelope. "But, come. You're neglecting our friends. We really should get back to them."

"You're right," said Pete, and he turned and accompanied the centauress back into the corridors, back toward the dining hall.

Once they were outside the bedroom, they walked together, arm in arm. Then Penelope smiled broadly and said, "By the way, my dearest, when we get back to the party, I'll have an announcement to make."

"Like what?" asked Pete.

But Penelope only gave her husband a coy look and said, "It's a surprise."

"A surprise for everybody at the party?"

"You'll see," said Penelope.

"No hints?" said Pete.

"Well… it's a happy announcement," said Penelope. "It should dispel some of this melancholy that seems to have come over you of late."

"I can't wait," said Pete.

Together, they returned to the small celebration and the company of their friends. But neither Pete nor Penelope saw the long, greenish silhouette that followed behind them, stalking them, silently flitting from shadow to shadow, formless but now taking shape…

* * *

Peter and Penelope swept into the dining hall together, and all the guests stood up to greet them. Lumpkin raised his goblet again and said, "Hail! The valiant High King and his beautiful Queen return to us!" But then the dwarf's face turned ashen white, and the goblet fell from his hand, spilling wine all over the tabletop. All around, the other guests stared in shock and horror, their mouths agape and their cheeks pale. Brenawen stood up on her chair and reached for a dagger; Phineas and Oreius pushed away from the table and drew swords; and Diarmuid moved to interpose himself between Cliodhna and the two rulers of Narnia.

Pete and Penny looked at each other in confusion. "What's the matter?" asked Pete. "Why does everybody look like they've just seen a ghost?"

At the same time, Brenawen pointed her knife and said, "Your Majesties, look out! Behind you!"

The king and queen turned around, and there behind them in the hallway was a huge, green snake with venom dripping from its enormous fangs and a long red ridge, like a fin, running down the back of it. The creature almost looked more draconian than serpentine, except of course that it had no limbs. And it was nearly big enough to fill the hallway.

Now, Pete had once or twice in his life seen demonic spirits that looked very much like giant green snakes—the first time when he had been exorcised by the Bards of Narrowhaven, and then once again when they had performed the same ritual to drive Count Serpens from the body of Sir Baelin. It should come as no surprise, therefore, that Pete had developed an extreme distaste for serpents of all kinds, to a degree that bordered on the phobic. _This_ creature was no demon—it was quite solid, and very much a physical, corporeal being—but, regardless, when Pete saw this monster behind him in the hallway, he froze. He was paralyzed with fright. He thought that it might really be the demon spirit of Count Serpens, come back to take its revenge by dragging Pete off to Hell with it. It reared back on its coils and prepared to lash out, but Penelope screamed Peter's name and pulled him away from the corridor and out into the dining room.

The giant serpent darted out into the open, barely missing Penelope with its fangs. Penelope, meanwhile, was only concerned for her husband. "Peter! Pete, are you all right?" she shouted.

Pete shook his head, as if coming out of a daze. "Huh? I'm fine. God, did Indiana Jones ever have it easy!"

"We need weapons," said Penelope, for both she and Pete were unarmed and unarmored.

For the moment, the giant snake seemed distracted by the other party guests. Phineas and the dwarves were trying their best to hack at its long trunk with their blades, while Oreius dueled with the creature face-to-face, swords versus fangs. Pete pointed to a pair of swords and a shield that hung decoratively from the wall above the head of the dinner table. "There," he said, and Penelope took his direction and quickly retrieved the pieces… only to find that they were welded together, both swords firmly fixed to the back of the shield.

"Shit," said Penelope, who by now was quite well versed in human expletives.

The serpent now slithered the rest of its immense bulk out of the corridor, and as it did so, it seemed to grow in size. It coiled itself up and reared its head, nearly filling the high-vaulted dining chamber. The Narnians' weapons had little effect on it; blades only blunted or glanced off those unnaturally thick scales, which now looked themselves quite like green shields. The creature flexed its muscles, sending a ripple of movement down its body, and Phineas, Lumpkin, and Brenawen were all flung away. Then it snapped at Oreius, causing the centaur to dive aside and drop his weapons. It spotted Peter and Penelope, and it knew who its intended prey was. It slithered toward them, preparing to strike…

The two swords attached to the shield made for a cumbersome sort of weapon, but Queen Penelope didn't really have other options. So she gripped one of the sword hilts with two hands and hefted the whole mess up over her head—no difficult feat for someone with her physical strength. Then she charged, galloping toward the snake with the improvised weapon swinging overhead. The serpent saw this and swept out with its tail, knocking Penelope away. The centauress screamed and fell over, all four of her legs taken out from underneath her. The not-very-dangerous decoration slipped from her hands and clattered harmlessly to the floor.

Pete looked up at the monster, and he knew that it had come for him. His feet were rooted to the floor, so frightened was he. The human king of Narnia had faced goblins, vampires, demons, devils, and witches, but this was something different. When it looked into Pete's eyes with its own gigantic reptilian orbs, Pete was transfixed—almost hypnotized. The snake opened its mouth and bore its fangs, and Pete was only vaguely aware of Penelope shouting his name in terrified agony. Then the serpent struck…

…And Pete vanished from sight. Swallowed whole. His friends all called out to him, but he simply wasn't there anymore to hear their distraught pleas. The snake, with blood on its lips, seemed to smile… and then it, too, vanished. It melted into a green vapor, and it seemed to disappear altogether. When it was gone, all that was left was the overturned dinner table, and a small puddle of red fluid.

The flummoxed Narnians picked themselves up and looked around. There was no sign of the snake, and there was no sign of High King Peter. Penelope only stared at the empty spot on the floor, too shocked to process what had just happened.

Lumpkin fearfully crept forward and looked at the place where Pete had only just now been standing. He knelt down and examined the red stain. The dwarf opened his mouth once or twice before he found his voice. "…Blood," he said. "It's blood."

Phineas came up to it as well, dipped his fingers in, and then brought them up to his nose to smell. He sniffed it and said, "Blood… and snake-venom."

That was when Penelope came back to her senses. _**"Noooooo!"**_ she howled, the anguish too great to bear. She crawled forward on all sixes, but Oreius and Brenawen held her back and kept her from approaching what appeared to be Pete's mortal remains—and precious little of them, to be sure. She collapsed into a heap, sobbing incoherently, though all present could make out Peter's name being repeated over and over. No eyes remained dry in that chamber, not even Oreius's, for all those who had assembled here loved Peter in some capacity, whether as husband, friend, or king. To a degree, they all felt what Penelope felt—absolute and utter devastation.

Queen Penelope of Narnia cried on into the night, and her pain-wracked sobs and wails echoed throughout Cair Paravel.

* * *


	59. Chapter 59

IN a lavish room with stone walls and no windows—with expensive rugs and tapestries and ornaments and an oversized canopy-bed—in a room with everything you could ask for save sunshine, Pete woke up. He was sitting on top of the bed, above the covers, which left the intricately sewn blankets and lacy throw-pillows mostly undisturbed. He looked at his surroundings—wealth and opulence, to be sure, but a far cry from the brilliance of Cair Paravel. The only light in this place came from oil-lamps on wall-sconces, their smoke wafting up into tiny ventilation-shafts in the ceiling. Pete sat up in the bed and examined himself. No wounds… no bite-marks… but his clothes were stained with blood. "What in the hell…?"

The room's only door, finely carved from some kind of heavy wood, gave a click and swung open. In the doorway appeared a person… though of what race, Pete could not be sure. He'd never seen anything quite like this creature before. It was no taller than a dwarf, though it was slenderer, and it wore a plan robe made from gray cloth that somehow managed to resemble bare stone. Its skin was also cobbled and gray, colored (if not textured) like granite. For a moment, Pete wondered whether this being weren't actually made of rock. It came into the room, looked up at Pete, and said in a pleasant voice, "Please come with me." And Pete could tell from the creature's voice that she was female.

"Who are you?" asked Pete. " _What_ are you?" While he waited for answers to his questions, he followed the odd little gray woman out into a corridor.

"I'm a gnome," she said simply. "My name is Ipsum."

As Pete walked along, he noted that the walls in these hallways were all beautifully decorated with every sort of hanging, painting, or piece of bric-a-brac that one might imagine—but still there were no windows. The ceiling was low and the walls narrow, giving this place so oppressive an aspect that Pete might as well have been deep underground in a mineshaft. "How did I get here?" asked Pete. "And for that matter, where is here?"

"You are in the palace of my mistress, the Queen-Under-Stone," said the gnome. "As to how you came here, I imagine that the Queen must have brought you."

"She brought me here… using a giant, man-eating snake… that teleports?"

Ipsum only shrugged and continued leading Pete through the hallways.

Eventually, they emerged from the maze of tunnel-like halls into a much larger chamber—a dining room with a long table of stone and rows of silver chairs, like thrones, all along both sides of it. This room was lit by many lamps and braziers, and it too was decorated with all manner of beautiful objects, but yet again, the total effect of the place was one of drab, sunless gloom. And there were people here—many people, some seated at the table and others moving about and serving them. All of the servants were like Ipsum: the small-statured, granite-skinned gnomes. But the people at the table… they all looked human.

They had the shapes of human beings, to be sure, only… something was strange about the lot of them. Pete couldn't quite put his finger on it. They were all fair-skinned (quite pale, actually); and from an objective standpoint, they would all have to be called attractive, since each was youthful and basically well-formed in both face and body. But they weren't a lively bunch. Nobody spoke, unless it was to whisper a command to one of the gnomes. The gnomes served their charges dutifully, though they went about their work in a plodding, sullen fashion. As for the people at the table, they picked at their food listlessly; stared blankly into space; or even rested their heads in their hands and slept while sitting up.

The large chair at the head of the table had its back to Ipsum and Pete, and so Pete couldn't see who sat there. But on the right hand of that chair, there was an empty spot at the table. The gnome conducted Pete to this chair and motioned for him to sit.

Pete circled around, so that he could see who waited for him here—so that he could see the Queen-Under-Stone. And her identity didn't surprise Pete very much at all. "Jada," he said when he saw her sitting in the silver throne.

"Peter, my love," said the Green Witch, "please, be seated. You're probably wondering why—"

"Why you brought me here?" said Pete.

"—Why it took me so long!" said Jada. She stood from her place and smiled brightly. "Oh, Peter, my dearest, I have missed you so!" All the while, the other diners remained in a stupor, seemingly unaware of either Jada or Pete.

"I'm touched," said Pete. "When can I go home?"

"Oh, this is your new home," said Jada. "For a time, at least. But, come, sit. Dine with us. I'll answer all of your questions, if you'll only share a meal with me."

Right about now, Pete was starting to realize that Jada might just be the craziest stalker ex-girlfriend that anybody had ever known, in all the long history of crazy, stalker ex-girlfriends. But he wanted information, and Jada was offering that freely, so Pete decided to play it cool. He smiled and sat down at the Green Witch's right hand. "Okay," said Pete. "There can't be any harm in that. Unless, of course, all these guys are stoned out of their gourds because you put some special hash in the food."

"Who, them?" asked Jada, indicating all of the humanlike persons at the table. "Don't mind them. They're only my brothers and sisters."

"Your… what, now?"

Jada smiled. "My siblings. Fellow witches and warlocks. I keep them occupied within dream-worlds of their own making, for protection. Trust me, it's the only safe way to have them about."

"Your own brothers and sisters…" said Pete. "Wait, but… are they all… are they all Jadis's children?"

Jada laughed and said, "Of course they are! Where else could the race of witch-kind have come from?"

"You tell me," said Pete. "I don't know anything about you people, or wherever it is that you guys came from."

Jada said, "It's a short story, really. My mother, Jadis, escaped from a dying world called Charn. There was a great disaster, and she was the only survivor. She was forced to flee to this world—to Dünya. But when she got here, she found another race of people whose form was so similar to her own—human beings, which we now know came from Earth, thanks to you!" As she spoke, Jada motioned for gnomes to come and fill her glass and Pete's with some kind of strong, pungent drink. She sipped from the cup, smacked her lips, and continued, "Jadis had to use many, many Sons of Adam to procreate our kind. The survival of the Charnian people was at stake, you must understand. But we, all of us, have a certain talent for magic. Nothing like Mother, of course—her Charnian blood is pure, and so her power is greater than any of ours—but, even still, we were all ambitious and sought what she possessed. There used to be many more of us, especially warlocks, but Queen Jadis had to destroy many of her own children over the centuries, to keep her position safe."

"She killed her own children," said Pete. On the one hand, Pete knew that he shouldn't have been surprised—this was the White Witch they were talking about, after all—but on the other, Pete had simply never heard of such a thing. He'd never imagined that even Jadis could be so twisted.

"It was no great loss to the world," said Jada. "Each and every one of them was ruthless, wicked to the core, and quite mad with lust for power. What your people might call 'psychopaths.' Yes. They were all psychotic, and Mother put them down like the dogs they were."

"But you," said Pete, "you only keep them trapped in their own minds."

"They're my flesh and blood," said Jada, batting her eyes sweetly. "I could never do them any real harm."

Pete shook his head. "You're one sick puppy, do you know that? Like mother, like daughter."

Jada only threw her head back and laughed aloud at that. "Oh, Pete, how I really have missed you! And, now that you're here at last…"

"Yeah, let's go over that," said Pete. "Why am I here?"

"I knew that somehow, someday, you would come to back to me," said Jada, "but I must confess, I grew a little impatient." She rolled her eyes and giggled madly. "So, to speed things along, I sent for you. Did you enjoy playing with my pet?"

Pete took hold of his shirt and pointed at the blood-stain. "Does this look like I had fun to you?"

"Oh," said Jada, "that. Merely another illusion of mine—a little something to fool all of your 'loyal subjects.' We can't have them thinking that you're still alive, now, can we? Or else they might get some nonsensical idea of mounting a rescue." The Green Witch waved her hand, and as she did so, the blood smear disappeared from Pete's clothes—as if it had never been there. Because, in fact, it never had been—it wasn't real.

Then, quickly, like a striking cobra, Jada's hand darted out and grabbed Pete's arm by the wrist—hard. Pete tried to pull away, but he couldn't. Jada was freakishly strong. She said, "But we both know better than that, don't we, my love? We know that you don't want to be rescued. You'd much rather stay here with me and be my King-Under-Stone."

"Let me go," said Pete through gritted teeth.

"Of course," said Jada, releasing Pete's arm. Then she saw the red welts that her fingers had left around his wrist and said, "Oh, no! Have I hurt you? Please, beloved, tell me that I haven't hurt you!"

Gripping his wrist, Pete stood up from the table and said, "Lady, you're whole new kinds of crazy! You're so far beyond delusional, they haven't come up with words for it yet! Because this," he motioned between Jada and himself, "does not exist. It's even less real than your 'magical mystery holodeck' trick!"

Jada shook her head, and tears formed in her eyes. "No!" she said. "That's not what you're supposed to say! You're supposed to tell me that you'll love me forever, and that you'll take me back to your world with you!"

Pete's eyes widened and he snorted laughter. "What in the name of Jesus H. Christ ever made you think _that_?" he scoffed. "I don't even _like_ you! I'm a married man, for God's sakes!"

Jada glowered at Pete and said, "Ah. Yes. The centaur. I would have thought you'd be thanking me right now, for rescuing you from her clutches."

"Rescu—?" Pete slammed both hands down on the table and leaned in close to Jada. "I love Penelope. I will always love Penelope. And I will _never_ so much as touch you again, so long as I live!"

"Is that so?" said Jada. "You can't honestly tell me that you'd rather lie down with the arse-end of a horse than with me!"

"Right now, I think I'd rather bang an _actual_ horse than look at your psycho face one minute longer!" snarled Pete

"Well, you have had the practice," Jada spat back. "But, come now, don't let's quarrel. Insults and curses—you really shouldn't say such things. It's certainly no way to speak to the mother of your child."

Pete reeled and staggered back. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'the mother of your child.'" Jada signaled to her gnome servants, and a short moment later, Ipsum came into the dining room leading a two-year-old girl by the hand. The toddler had Pete's eyes, Pete's hair…

Pete fell back into the chair by the table. "No," he said, shaking his head. "No. It's another trick. One of your… one of your damned tricks…"

"No tricks," said Jada. The Green Witch knelt down to the floor and opened her arms. The little girl said nothing, but she ambled from Ipsum over to Jada and let her mother pick her up. "There we are," cooed Jada. "Jillian, baby, this is Daddy. Daddy, would you like to meet your baby girl?"

Pete stared at the witch, and the toddler in her arms, in utter shock. The little girl—Jillian—put her thumb in her mouth and started sucking. Pete's mouth went dry, and he took up a goblet from the table and drained the strange drink in one swallow. He looked again. The girl was still there, resting in Jada's arms. She was actually a beautiful child. "You… named her Jillian?"

"I thought that it was appropriate," said Jada. "Something that we shared."

Pete closed his eyes and fought against it. He tried to wish it away, tried to make himself believe that it couldn't have been real. "That… world… was an illusion," said Pete. "You conjured it up in a back-alley in Tashbaan!"

"But I was there," said Jada. "I was real. And what we did… that was real too. And after you left me, when I discovered that I was with child, I shut up my old castle in the Northlands and sent away all my servants and soldiers. I came here, to this place, to raise our child in peace—away from Jadis. And I've been waiting here ever since—for you."

Pete looked up at Jada and said, "Where is here, exactly?"

"Deep underground," said Jada. "A mile or so beneath the city of Harfang, far to the north of Narnia."

Once again, Pete rose from the table, loudly scooting his silver chair across the stone floor as he did so. "Thanks," he said. "Now I know which way home is." And he turned for one of the corridors, which he chose at random, meaning to follow it away.

"Where are you going?" asked Jada. "You cannot leave this place. There's no way out, unless I will it. No tunnels, no caves, no passages. Only by means of my arts can anybody come and go from here."

Pete turned. "You mean I'm trapped here? I'm your prisoner?"

"Not my prisoner!" said Jada, laughing merrily. "My husband! And now, you'll stay here with me, and with our daughter, and we will be a family. I know that you'll be a good father to Jillian, Pete, because she is your child—and you are such a good, honorable man."

Pete eyeballed the little girl, who now stared at him intently. "What makes you think I care about her? She's just another witch, right?"

Jillian laughed. "I know you, my beloved, perhaps better than you know yourself. You would never abandon a child of yours, and you would certainly never let her come to any harm, so don't ever think that you can bluff with me. And, besides, she's only one-quarter witch, at most. My father was human too, remember."

"Not that you'd ever know it," said Pete. "Baelin was a good man. You… you're the devil."

"No," said Jillian. "I'm your angel! In fact, I can be anything that you desire—you know that, right? I can even be… any of your former lovers…" The Green Witch set baby Jillian carefully onto the floor, and then she mumbled a spell, and she _changed_. She suddenly assumed the form of Pete's wife, Queen Penelope. In every aspect, she was identical—just as the centauress appeared in Pete's most recent memories. "I can be anybody you want. Penelope… Cliodhna… Taraiel…"

Pete felt sick. "Stop that," he said. "You're not my wife. You're not any of them. Don't you ever do this again!"

"As you wish," said Jada, dismissing the illusion and returning to her own form. "Actually, I prefer it this way. It's best that you forget them, and learn to love me. Especially since we'll be living here for… a while longer."

"How much longer?" asked Pete.

"Until I have everything I need," answered Jada cryptically. "But until that day, you will remain here. Please, my love, do try to be happy. There's no way out, and all of your old friends must now think that you're dead, so don't waste yourself on hope. Just… accept it."

"Never," said Pete. "I never give up hope."

"Pity," said Jada, "since this time, there isn't any. At least, not for you."

Baby Jillian, now curious, stood up awkwardly and toddled over to Pete. She raised her arms to the human and uttered, "Da! Up!" But Pete didn't pick her up. He just walked away from the dining hall, down one of the many branching corridors. If there was a way out, he meant to explore this place until he found it. And Jada let him go, because she knew that he wouldn't find anything—except a reason to give up.


	60. Chapter 60

MANY days of aimless wandering passed by before Pete learned the whole truth. He explored every inch of every tunnel that made up Jada's underground hideout, and it was as the Green Witch had said to him—there was no way out. There weren't any gates or passages that led away from this place—just a series of underground hallways, carved out of the very rock by some arcane process of witchcraft. Only Jada, it seemed, could come and go at will—but it was a rare thing when she left Pete to his own devices.

Without the sun to mark the passage of days and nights, Pete really had no way to tell how much time went by. But, by counting those periods that he spent awake as "days" and the times he slept as "nights," he figured that three weeks or so must have gone by before he stumbled upon a room that he wasn't supposed to find. So far, Jada had been content to let Pete wander about the complex freely, because she didn't believe that he could do any harm by going where he pleased—and because she still meant to elicit Pete's affections for her. Furthermore, the human still needed to eat and drink, and the only food and water in the place seemed to come from Jada herself, provided as they were by her magical arts. So Pete was frequently obliged to return to the witch's dining room, where Jada would sit down with Jillian and Pete and play the part of a pleasant, agreeable "woman of the house."

But when Pete searched the lowest levels of the palace and found the dungeon cell, Jada was livid with anger. She had wanted to keep its sole occupant a secret from Pete, at least for the time being.

Pete had been wandering through one of the many tunnels—though they were all adorned with different sorts of ornaments, they all ran together in Pete's mind, and he still had difficulty finding his way around—when, one day, quite by accident, he found a locked wooden door with a tiny, barred window in it. And he heard a voice coming from within the room beyond—a woman's voice. Pete drew nearer to the door, and he could hear the woman inside it, babbling incoherently. "Reddest sun, squeezed by Father Time, end of the world… my fault, all my fault."

Pete peeked through the bars, but the room was dark. He couldn't see inside. "Hello?" he called. "Who's there?"

"It's him," said the voice. "Him, Adam's flesh and Adam's bone, bringer of the apple, bringer of sin and death."

Pete looked up and down the hallway and saw many lamps hanging from sconces. He retrieved one and brought it back to the cell. Shining the light through the little window, he was stunned to find none other than Queen Jadis trapped therein—but she was dirty, beaten, and disheveled, and madness now gleamed in her eyes where there had once been frigid emptiness. Some of her hair had been torn out, and she was covered with cuts and bruises. She wore only plain rags. "Hello, little lion's cub," said Jadis. "Hello, little apple-seed."

"Jadis!" said Pete. "Where in the world did you come from?"

The White Witch didn't answer him. It seemed as if her mind were utterly gone. She only ran up to the door and put her grimy face against the bars. "Peter, dear, I _used_ it. I used it once, and it ruined everything. And now _she_ wants it. She wants it for herself, the madwoman!"

"Look who's talking," said Pete.

At this, Jadis started shrieking and screaming at the top of her lungs, trying to squeeze her fingers through the bars to reach out at Pete. " _The word!_ " she cried. _"She wants the word, wants the word that ends the world, but I'll never let her have it!_ "

Pete was so surprised by this that he staggered back… only to run into Jada, who stood behind him, watching, staring angrily. Pete spun around and saw the Green Witch, and he nearly leapt out of his skin. "Gha!"

"Peter," said Jada in a stern voice, "you shouldn't be snooping like this. You weren't supposed to know about her."

"Know what?" said Pete. "That you're keeping your own mother locked up in a dungeon cell, when she ought to be in a padded room and a straitjacket?"

"I have to keep her here!" said Jada. "She has something that I want, you see. Something that I need before we can leave."

"I don't get it," said Pete. "Why can't you just tie her up and take us all out of here? Why are keeping us trapped in this damn bunker?"

Jada's expression changed from stony anger to smug amusement. "You really don't get it, do you? I don't mean that we'll leave this palace, darling. I mean that once I've gotten what I want from Mother, we will leave this _world_ behind. When that day arrives, I will use my powers to take us to Earth."

"Over my dead body!" said Pete.

"Unlikely," said Jada. "You'd be surprised what a mortal can live through."

Pete mentally shuddered at the thought, though he tried his best to stand firm in front of Jada and keep a brave face. Then he heard the White Witch shriek again from within her cell, _"You can't have it! You can't have it!_ "—and Pete was reminded of Jadis's ravings. "Jadis said something about a word. 'She wants the word.' What's the word, Jada?"

The Green Witch responded, "It is… the Deplorable Word. The most powerful enchantment ever devised."

"And what does it do?"

"It kills," said Jada simply. "It kills every living thing on a single planet, except for the person who speaks it. My mother uttered this word but once, when she still resided upon her home-world of Charn. She destroyed it all—every living soul, every member of her own race, every animal, every plant—and then she came here."

Pete gaped at Jada. This was… okay, to be perfectly honest, it was just about on par with finding out that he had a daughter. But, still. "Jadis has a doomsday word, and you want to learn it from her? What the fucking fuckity-fuck _for_!?"

"To end this world," said Jada. Her voice was weary and drawn as she explained, "I have tired of Narnia, tired of Calormen, tired of all Dünya. And so I will wipe it out. And then, once there is nothing left for you here, you will be glad that I've sent you away from it. You'll be glad to see New York again, won't you, Peter? Happy to have your family all in one place?"

But Peter didn't say anything to that. He just turned away from Jada, walked over to Jadis's cell, and said, "Jadis, come here." Behind Pete, Jada watched curiously.

The White Witch once again put her face to the bars. "Peter," she said, "I told you that she was mad. Don't you agree with me? Isn't she mad?"

"Yeah," said Pete. Slowly, from his sleeve, he drew out a table-knife which he had stolen from the dining room, and he palmed it. Pete had kept the knife for days and days now, thinking to use it on Jada if the opportunity arose. But he hadn't, of course, because as far as he knew, the Green Witch was the only way in or out of here—and the only one providing food for Pete and for their little girl. But now, here was another opportunity that Pete had not foreseen. If he was quick, he could end Jadis's life right here, right now—and the Deplorable Word would die along with her.

He kept his body between himself and Jada, and he gripped the knife. Jadis clearly saw what Pete was doing, and she fell silent. She didn't scream or babble anymore. Indeed, the look in her eyes was almost one of gratitude. Pete suddenly lunged forward with the blade… only to have Jada stop him by once again latching onto his wrist with her vise-like grip. From within the cell, Jadis gave a hopeless giggle and canted a little song about the end of the world.

"Naughty Peter, trying to stab Mother like that," said Jada. She squeezed and gave Pete's wrist a turn, and he cried out and dropped the knife. "This will never do, will it? I'm afraid that I'll have to keep you locked up from now on." And that's precisely what Jada did. She held Pete firmly by the arm, and she dragged him bodily back to the very bedroom that he had been in when he had first awakened in this place, after having been kidnapped by the giant, illusory snake.

There, in that glum and over-decorated little room, Pete was forced to count the days and the nights, the days and the nights, the days and the nights, on and on and on and on and on…

* * *

Three years later.

* * *

Three long years. Or, at least, that was Pete's best estimation of the time elapsed. He had stopped counting the days once their number surpassed one-thousand. Three years without sunshine, without moonlight, without sky, without the open air. Three years without his wife, without a friend, without anybody he could trust. He certainly couldn't trust the gnomes, since they were Jada's slaves; and except for the servant-girl called Ipsum, they rarely spoke two words at a time to the human. In fact, Pete couldn't even trust himself down here, since he could never be sure what was real and what wasn't.

He hoped that Jillian was real, though. She was the one bright spot in a sea of darkness—the one thing that kept him sane. Without that little girl, he would have plunged over the precipice of insanity long ago. Probably close to five years old now, she was a dead ringer for Pete's younger sister Lucy at that age. When Lucy had been five years old, Pete had been thirteen, and so the memories were actually fairly clear. Jillian had a similar personality—the same curiosity, the same intelligence, the same sweet disposition. When Pete was permitted to spend time with little Jill, those were his only happy moments. He talked with her, and he tried to teach her things. He told her stories, he told her about Earth and about Narnia, and he tried his best to teach her right from wrong. His worst fear was that she might grow up to be like Jadis and Jada.

Jada, of course, did everything in her power to keep Pete comfortable. She provided him with small gifts, little conveniences and luxuries—but never anything that he might turn to use as a weapon. Continually, she pressed her suit for love upon Peter, but always he rejected her. She tried kindness, temptation, seduction, and bargaining; but all of those things failed. Eventually, Pete rebuffed her advances one time too many, and so she decided to take what she wanted from him. At first, she resorted to guile and trickery. Using her mastery of illusions, she would take the form of Penelope or Cynthia and appear in Pete's bedroom at night, as if that long-dreamt-of rescue had finally come. The first time, she had taken Penelope's form, and Pete had been fooled. The second time, she used that shape again, and Pete knew that he was being played. After that, Jada tried to use the shapes of Cynthia and Cliodhna, but this only made the human angry. From then on, what Jada could no longer take through trickery, she obtained from Pete by brute force.

On other fronts, the Green Witch continued her work with equal persistence. Pete knew that she was doing something horrible to torture Jadis, to try and extract the details of the Deplorable Word from her. But the White Witch must have been either extremely strong-willed, or she was too far gone to comprehend her own torment—because, whatever the reason, the vile syllables never fell from her mouth, and so Jada was continually thwarted. That Jada could not seem to obtain what she desired most was of some comfort to Pete, but not much. It was only a matter of time, he believed, before the Green Witch acquired the knowledge that she sought, and that would mean the end of the world.

In short, Pete's life had become a dreary routine of terror, hopelessness, humiliation, and psychological deprivation. He would have given anything at all to escape from this place, to see Narnia and Penelope and his friends again, except for one very important thing: Jillian. On that one point, Pete was determined. He wouldn't try to save himself from Jada, unless he could save his daughter from her as well.

* * *

After three torturous and depressing years, help finally arrived from a most unexpected quarter. It was one of those rare days when Jada had vanished from the underground palace, off to who-knew-where, to go and do who-knew-what. It happened every month or so, as near as Pete could tell. But on this particular day, the lock on his bedroom door clicked open, and there was Ipsum the gnome. For three years, Pete had tried every means of escape: the sick prisoner routine, his own useless attempts at lock-picking, and everything else that he had been able to think of. But he'd never dared to dream that one of the gnomes might simply open the door for him. "Come quickly, Your Majesty," said Ipsum. "The day has come at last, but we haven't much time."

"What day?" said Pete, sitting up in the bed. "Don't tell me that Jada finally learned the Deplorable Word!"

"Of course not, thank Aslan!" said Ipsum. (It was the first time that Pete had heard Aslan's name spoken in three years, and it came as something of a shock.) "I mean the day of our escape! Ortz has finally finished digging his tunnel!"

Pete recalled having heard Ortz's name once or twice. He was another gnome, one who performed some kind of laborious drudgery on the lower levels of the complex. "Tunnel?" said Pete, standing up excitedly.

"Yes!" said Ipsum. "A tunnel which leads to the under-caverns, and the way back home to Bism!" Ipsum motioned hurriedly for Pete to follow, and the human fell into step behind her.

"What's Bism?" asked Pete.

"The country of the gnomes," said Ipsum. "It lies far beneath us. Mistress Jada never permitted us to discuss it before, and so we had to keep silent. But now that we're ready to leave, we gnomes have all agreed that you ought to come with us, since you've been even more of a prisoner here than we have."

"That's… very friendly of you," said Pete. "How do I know that this isn't one of Jada's tricks?"

"I suppose you don't," said Ipsum. "But, thinking logically, isn't it worth the risk?"

Pete stopped in his tracks, and he did consider it logically. If this was Jada in disguise again, what was the downside? Pete really didn't have anything to lose right now. He was playing Pascal's wager, not with the question of God's existence, but with his own shot at freedom. "Okay," said Pete, gesturing for Ipsum to lead on. "Ladies first."

* * *

They came to the dining hall in the center of the palace—that large and lavish chamber were all the glassy-eyed, empty-headed witches and warlocks lived on only in their dreams. Pete ran to the table and collected as many knives as he could find—that was only practical. Then he looked around at all the dazed, lifeless faces and said, "Keeping them here like this is cruel. I'm almost tempted to put them out of their misery."

"You're one to talk," said Ipsum. " _You_ haven't had to clean their chamber-pans for the last five years."

Pete shuddered and decided that it would be best to leave them all be. Anyway, he couldn't bring himself to kill them in cold blood. "Okay, let's just get out of here," said Pete. "But… wait. Before we go, I have to take care of a few more things."

"Like what?" asked Ipsum. "The Green Lady could return at any moment! And we haven't got all day!"

"Like, making sure that Jada never learns the Deplorable Word," said Pete. "Like, getting my daughter out of here, so that she doesn't grow up to become an evil megalomaniac!"

The gnome sighed. "All right. But hurry."

* * *

Pete ran down the corridors, around twists and turns and corners, until he found Jillian's bedroom. This cozy little chamber was decorated in all pink, white, and frills. It was the bedroom of a born princess. When Pete burst in through the door, Jillian jumped up from the bed and dropped the three stuffed animals that she had been playing with. "Daddy!"

"Hey there, baby girl!" said Pete, scooping her into his arms. "Come on. We're going to take a little trip."

"Where?" asked Jillian.

"Somewhere else," said Pete. "Somewhere better than here."

"Okay," said the girl. She buried her head in Pete's shoulder and let her father carry her out of the room. "Is Mommy coming too?"

"Uh… no, Jilly, honey. Mommy can't come yet."

"Why not?"

Pete signed. "Because… she's been a bad girl. So she just can't come."

"Oh," said Jillian, as if she understood everything.

After that, Ipsum led Pete and Jillian down flight after flight of stone stairs, deep down into the very lowest levels of the palace—the levels where the dungeons were. As they hurried on their way, Pete said, "I still don't understand why you're doing this for me. In three years, this has got to be the most that we've ever spoken to each other."

"No, you're right, we haven't spoken much," said Ipsum, "but we gnomes have been watching. We prefer not to share knowledge, because we learned early on in the course of our enslavement that the Green Witch can see thoughts and memories whenever she wishes to look."

"Yeah," said Pete. "It's one heck of a Jedi mind-trick. Speaking of that, how did you manage to keep this escape-tunnel of yours a secret for so long?"

"Caution and foresight," said Ipsum. "Ortz and the other diggers simply kept out of Jada's way. She doesn't pay us much attention, and I don't think she can really tell us apart, so she doesn't much bother with peering into our memories. And, of course, we didn't tell you about the tunnel before now, so that she wouldn't learn of it from your mind."

"Oh. Okay. So… just out of curiosity, how did you guys end up stuck here in the first place, anyway?"

"Nothing more than bad luck," said Ipsum. "We were exploring these tunnels, when Jada happened upon them and decided to make a palace here with her witchcraft. She shut them up, changed them into hallways and corridors, and forced us to be her servants. That was nearly five years ago."

At last, they came to the bottom floor of the palace, and Pete set Jillian down onto the ground. "Stay here with Ipsum," he said to the girl. Then he followed a pathway which had been burned into his memory for the last few years, and he came once again to Jadis's cell. Only a wretched moaning could be heard coming from inside it. Pete took down a lamp and approached the cell. Therein, Jadis lay on the floor in a pool of her own filth. She was wrinkled and emaciated, as if she had aged thirteen years in the span of only three. Pete saw this pitiful sight, but he felt no pity. This was a woman, after all, who had destroyed an entire world. He whistled and said, "Yo. Witchiepoo."

Jadis looked up with the eyes of a ravenous animal.

Pete took one of the knives from the dining-hall and touched the hilt to his nose. "You want this?" he asked.

Jadis tried to crawl toward the door, but she seemed too weak to make the distance. Still, she stared at the knife, hungrily, imploringly.

"Okay," said Pete. He pushed the blade through the barred window and let it clatter onto the stone floor inside the cell. He saw Jadis grope for it… but that was all he could bear to watch. After that, he just turned and walked away from the cell.

Behind him, the White Witch moaned again… and then her voice was sharply cut off, and no more sounds came from within the cell.

* * *


	61. Chapter 61

PETE once again took Jill into his arms and followed Ipsum the gnome through the drab stone hallways. Ahead, he heard the buzz of many excited voices. Then they emerged into a rough-hewn chamber, formerly a bare storeroom on the deepest floor of the underground palace. Now, though, it was filled with gnomes—dozens of them, all the gnomes who had been trapped here by the Green Witch these past few years. In the middle of the floor, a large hole had been dug into the ground, and this lead to a tunnel which sloped steeply downward.

"Ah," said a male gnome. He and two fellow gnomes stepped forth from the crowd. "Ipsum is back with the human… oh, my, and the hybrid child as well."

"And you are?" asked Pete, hugging Jill tightly to his chest.

"I am Ortz," said the gnome. "And these are Golg and Spar. We were well-respected engineers back in Bism, before Jada enslaved us; and we've been digging this escape tunnel for years now."

"So this tunnel… it goes back to your country? Farther underground?" Pete was eager to escape from this place, but he wasn't sure he liked the prospect of going deeper down.

"Not right away, it doesn't," said Ortz. "It leads to the under-caverns, the complex web of naturally eroded tunnels between the highest regions of Bism and the lowest caves beneath Dünya's surface. And a most fascinating geological feature it is, I must say."

"I don't know," said Ipsum. "I would be much more intrigued at the prospect of examining this child's genetic code." She pointed at Jill with a wide-eyed grin and said, "Imagine what she could teach us about surface-world biology!"

Pete blinked and looked around at the gnomes, who were all nodding eagerly at Ipsum's speech. "Wait, wait, wait a second!" said Pete. "You guys… you're scientists?"

"We're gnomes," said Ortz, as if that explained everything.

"So… you know about geology, and DNA, and… what else?" The idea of real scientists, here on Dünya… Pete had never imagined such a thing, but the implications were grave and astonishing.

"Oh, I don't know," said Ortz. "Ask me something."

"Okay," said Pete. He thought for a moment, and then said, "Tell me if this equation means anything to you. If 'E' is energy, 'M' is mass, and 'C' is the speed of light, then—"

"Then the amount of energy found in a given quantity of matter is equal to its mass times the speed of light squared," said Ortz, "or in terms of the variables you've just described, E equals MC-squared. Fascinating! I never thought that a surface-worlder would know anything about atomics! You all seem so… so _primitive_ up there!"

Pete laughed loudly at that. "It _is_ kind of primitive up there. But it's home, and I want to go back, so… can these 'under-caverns' get me back to Narnia?"

"Of course," said Ortz. "I was an explorer as well as an engineer, and I know the caverns backwards and forwards. I will lead you there myself, once my people are free of this place."

"So let us be gone," said Ipsum. "And good riddance!"

Everybody agreed, and so the gnomes all poured into Ortz's tunnel, and Pete and Jill followed them down.

* * *

The band of gnomes wandered through the tunnels for several days. Pete had been made to leave in a hurry, and the only things he had on his person were a few dull knives and his five-year-old daughter. But the gnomes had been planning this escape for quite a while, and they had food, water, and even lanterns with them. The gnomes were perfectly able to see in total darkness, but Ipsum had thought to bring lights for Pete's sake, so that he wouldn't have to stumble around blindly or be led by touch all the way. This turned out to be fortunate, since little Jill was already frightened and dispirited, and if she'd been compelled to wander in the dark with her father, it might have been that much the worse for them. As it stood, she cried frequently at having to leave her home behind—those rooms and hallways had been the only world she'd ever known—but Pete held her in his arms, stroked her raven hair, and whispered soothing things until the girl calmed down.

Eventually, they came to a dome-shaped cavern with many branching tunnels that went off in all directions, some sloping up and others sloping down. "This is where we part ways," said Ortz. He addressed his fellow gnomes and said, "I must lead High King Peter of Narnia back to his kingdom. It is a long road, and difficult, but I shall make the journey nonetheless. And when I am on the surface world and living among the top-dwellers, I shall learn all that I can about their ways, until the time comes for me to return to Bism. Then our knowledge of surface anthropology shall be greatly increased, to the betterment of our science."

The other gnomes applauded this speech, and Ipsum said, "I believe I shall come with you. It's strange, but I have grown fond of Peter and Jill, and I should hate to leave them so quickly."

Pete was grateful to have both of the gnomes along with him, though he understood that in Ortz's case, it was more a matter of scientific curiosity than an act of selfless kindness. But Ipsum was an all-right sort of person, and he was glad to have her along.

* * *

After the rest of the gnomes said their goodbyes and departed down one of the low-sloping tunnels, Ortz took up a lantern and led Pete, Jill, and Ipsum to one of the higher passages. This one twisted and turned for another two days, and then, sudden as you please, there was a light at the end of the tunnel—a brilliant, yellow-white light. Though it had been so very long, Pete knew it for what it was right away. Holding Jill tightly in his arms, he took off at a run, laughing aloud. The gnomes ran after him, fascinated by the human's behavior. "This gives us a particular insight into human psychology," Ipsum commented, and Ortz nodded his agreement.

Then Pete emerged from the mouth of the tunnel, and he found himself on the surface of the world again. The landscape was nothing more than dreary swamp, but the sky was blue, the sun was bright, and Pete decided that apart from little Jill, this was the most beautiful thing that he had seen in three years. _**"Haha!"**_ he shouted. _**"Hello, sky!"**_

Jillian had never seen a light this bright before, and she winced and closed her eyes. "What is it?" she asked.

Pete pointed up at the sun and said, "It's sunlight, Jilly! Don't look right at it. Just… close your eyes and feel it on your face."

The little girl closed her eyes… and she felt the warmth… and she started laughing. Pete laughed with her, and he picked her up and kissed her cheeks, which made her laugh even more. They collapsed together on the muddy ground and laid down on their backs, looking up at the bright blue dome overhead, with its white wisps of cloud sailing by in the upper atmosphere.

"Truly fascinating," said Ortz, observing the father and daughter with empirical detachment.

* * *

They had emerged in a cool, clammy swampland—not the most delightful place to visit on the world's surface, but it was a sight more hospitable than any bare cave, and after three years underground, Pete didn't mind at all. So they sought the highest, driest ground that they could find, and they picked a direction and followed it. Pete didn't really have any idea where they were, but he knew that it must have been somewhere north of Narnia, so he aimed them on a more-or-less southerly course.

After a couple of hours like this, the land grew wetter, with more creeks, streams, shallow lakes, and stretches of muddy bog. It became harder and harder to find a dry path, and when Pete started sinking down to his knees in the mud, he knew that they couldn't take this way much farther. The gnomes would be up to their waistlines soon, and if the mud got any deeper than this, it could prove really dangerous.

So Pete decided to backtrack, and he led the gnomes along a different path, but this wasn't much better than the last, and soon, evening was upon them, and they were all turned about and quite lost in the swamp. "The logical thing to do," said Ipsum, "rather than worry about it now, would be to make camp and decide upon a solution to our problem in the morning."

Pete agreed that this was a very level-headed solution, and so he collected some dry branches to make a fire, and they camped out that night on a high mound of grassy earth that rose several feet above the swamp water.

* * *

The next morning, Pete woke up when Jill—who had been sleeping next to her father—fidgeted in his arms and roused him. "Daddy," said the girl, "someone's coming."

Pete was awake in a flash, and as he sat up and scanned their surroundings, he spotted a tiny sort of rowboat, rounded like a coracle, making its way across the muddy lake-water. Pete stood up and waved his hands. "Hey!" he shouted. "Hey! Help! Over here!"

That noise woke up the gnomes as well, and Ortz and Ipsum sat up to see what was going on.

The boat's pilot was a strange little man, shorter than a human, but taller than a dwarf, with very long fingers and a mouth so wide that it almost reminded Pete of a frog's. Pete's first impression of this creature was that he looked like a cross between Gollum and a hobbit. The little boat ran aground on the dry mound, and the man stood up and said, "Oy, now. What're you about, bothering me like this?"

"Sorry," said Pete, "but we're lost in the swamp. We're trying to find our way to Narnia."

"Oh, you're already in Narnia, I'd say. Leastwise, the northerly parts of it. These are the Northern Marshes."

Pete's eyes widened. "The Northern Marshes? Those are close to Cair Paravel! I'm almost home!" He knelt down to Jill and said, "Did you hear that, baby? We're almost home!"

"I want Mommy," said Jill. "Can't she come home with us?"

Pete closed his eyes and frowned. But before he could explain anything to Jill, the strange boatman said, "From Cair Paravel, eh? No, that's not far at all. I s'pose I could show you the way. Not that there's anything in it for me, of course."

"Will you?" asked Pete. "We'd be very grateful."

"I don't know. You're all a funny-looking bunch. Never seen the likes of you before. Could be up to no-good, for all I know."

"That doesn't make very much sense," said Ipsum. "Just because you've never seen us before, why would you assume the worst?"

"Well, now, I don't mean any offense," said the man. "It's just my nature, you see. We marshwiggles are just skeptical like that."

"Marshwiggles?" asked Pete.

"You know. Swamp-folk. I'm Drizzlegrim the marshwiggle, by the by, at your service." At that point, Drizzlegrim stood up in his boat, took off his hat of woven reeds, and swept into a gallant bow.

"Well that case," said Pete, "I should introduce myself too. I'm Peter Pevensie."

Drizzlegrim stared at Pete. Then he snorted… and laughed aloud. "Right. You're Peter Pevensie. _You're_ the High King of Narnia, who was killed and ate by a demon three years back."

Pete stared at the marshwiggle without flinching or even so much as cracking a smile.

Drizzlegrim became grimmer and said, "You're serious. Cor blimey, you're not joking! But you can't really be him!"

"I can and I am," said Pete. "No fooling."

"By the lion's mane," breathed Drizzlegrim. "All right… then where've you been all this time, eh? Can you answer me that?"

"Yes," said Pete, "but it's a long story." And so, as briefly as he could, he outlined the tale just lately recounted, of how he came to be imprisoned by the Green Witch.

When it was over, Drizzlegrim agreed at once to lead Pete, Jill, and the gnomes through the swamp by the safest paths. "If Cair Paravel is where you mean to go, Your Majesty, then that's where I'll see you to," he said. "But I wouldn't be too hopeful about what you'll find when you get there, just so's you know."

"Why's that?" asked Pete.

"Well… everyone's thought you dead for the last couple of years," explained the marshwiggle. "From what I hear tell, Cair Paravel ain't what it used to be. Every prince, duke, and backwater baron in the world, it seems, has tried suing for the hand of High Queen Penny. Whoever marries her becomes king, after all."

Pete blanched at that pronouncement. "How long has this been going on?"

"Oh, it probably started not long after you died. I mean, disappeared." Drizzlegrim shrugged. "Probably best to give up hope now, so you don't get disappointed when you get there. Like as not, she could already be remarried."

"No," said Pete. "Not Penny… she wouldn't… no." But Pete really had no idea what could have happened in the past three years. And he couldn't blame Penelope if she'd settled down with somebody else, because the Green Witch had purposely made it seem as if he'd died. So he resolved to do the only thing he could: he would go to Cair Paravel and find out for himself.

Jill looked up at Pete and asked, "Who's Penny, Daddy?"

Pete said, "She's somebody that your Daddy loves very much. I think you'll like her a lot too."

"Aw, that's sweet," said Drizzlegrim. "Pardon my frankness, but how many bastard children does Your Majesty have, anyway?"

Pete glowered at Drizzlegrim and said, "How about, the next time you want to say something like that in front of my little girl, you think twice and keep your cake-hole shut?"

"All right, all right," said the marshwiggle. "Just an honest question. Look, are we going to waste the daylight sitting here, or do you want to get going?" After that, the four escapees readied themselves to follow Drizzlegrim through the swamp. Their next destination: Cair Paravel, capital of Narnia and home of High Queen Penelope.

* * *


	62. Chapter 62

CAIR Paravel had grown into a busy, bustling sort of city in the last couple of years. But from the looks of things, it wasn't the friendliest of places anymore. The people walking the city streets—fauns, dwarves, talking animals, and even the occasional jinn, elf, or merrow—kept to themselves and went about their own business. During that first blessed year and a half, when Pete had reigned here as king, Cair Paravel was still growing into a city from little more than a village that had sprung up around the castle. Back then, it had seemed as if everybody had known everybody else. But now… it was just as impersonal as New York City. Pete stunned himself by making that mental comparison, but it was the truth.

Nobody gave the small party of travelers a second look, either. Pete, Jill, the two gnomes, and the marshwiggle might have seemed like an odd collection of unusual people, but here in Cair Paravel, nobody seemed to want to ask questions. Certainly, nobody bothered enough to stop and ask them about their purpose in the city. There were guards, to be sure—armed fauns and centaurs, watching the citizenry, keeping the peace. But they just ignored Pete and his group. Not one person they passed recognized Pete for who he was.

Granted, the human's appearance had changed somewhat in the intervening years. He was grayer at the temples, and instead of shaving every day while he'd lived underground, he'd let his beard grow in and his hair grow out. He looked a rougher sort these days—like a man who'd been through hell and back, only to emerge the tougher for it. In all that time underground, he hadn't let his strength wane either. Indeed, with very little to do in that small locked bedroom except exercise, Pete might have even been stronger now than before.

Drizzlegrim dodged aside when a cart, drawn by mules and driven by a dwarf, nearly ran him over on the cobble-paved street. "All right," said the marshwiggle. "Cair Paravel. We're here. Good luck, then, Sire, and may your fortunes improve from here on out, Aslan willing."

"You're leaving us already?" asked Pete.

"S'pose so," said Drizzlegrim. "It ain't like I've got any reason to stick around now, do I?"

"I guess not," said Pete. So, the marshwiggle took his leave of them, but not before Ortz and Ipsum begged him to answer several rude questions about marshwiggle anatomy, diet, culture, religion, and behavioral psychology. Eventually, Drizzlegrim got so fed up with the gnomes that he simply walked away, and he didn't speak another word of parting to either of them or to Pete and Jill.

"What a sullen fellow," said Ortz. "I wonder how their society can persist, if they're all like that."

"One marshwiggle isn't a statistically significant sample," said Ipsum. "We would have to do more research before drawing any reliable conclusions."

"Of course, of course," said Ortz with a dismissive hand-wave.

Pete whistled to get the gnomes' attention and said, "I hate to interrupt your little research-conference, but we really need to get a move-on. I want to get off the streets and out of sight."

"Out of sight, Your Majesty?" asked Ipsum. "Whatever for? Don't you want your people to know that you've returned?"

"Not quite yet," said Pete. "Come on."

* * *

There was a small tavern on the north side of Cair Paravel, not too far from the docks district, marked by a painted wooden sign that depicted a jolly faun riding on the back of a goat and holding a goblet filled with purple grapes. This tavern, known far and wide simply as "Fabian and Agrippina's," brewed the best ale in the city. Or, at least, that had been the case when Pete was here last. Fabian and Agrippina were an elderly couple, a faun and a fauna, who Pete had come to know well enough to trust. He hoped that they still owned the place.

He led Jill and the two gnomes in through the front door and sat down at a table in a dark corner of the main room. The inside of the tavern was busy enough—Narnians and foreign sailors mingled here freely, laughing and drinking and feasting. A pair of young girl-fauns, daughters of the tavern-keepers, pranced from table to table on the tips of their dainty hooves, serving the ale in tall flagons and setting bowls of fruit and plates of bread on the tables. Eventually, one of them came by Pete's table and asked what they would have. Pete said, "Actually, I'm here to see your parents. Are they here?"

The fauna looked curiously at the bearded man, the being whose race she couldn't quite place, but who resembled an elf more than anything else. "They're here," she said. "Mother is in the kitchen, and Father is in the cellar."

Without bothering to ask for permission, Pete simply stood up from the table, took Jill by the hand, and told the gnomes to wait here.

"Hey!" said the fauna. "You can't go back there!"

But Pete just pushed his way into the kitchen.

Old Agrippina was a satyress of more than two-hundred years. Her hair was gray and kept done up in a tight bun. Her face was wrinkled, pleasant, and usually smiling. A heavy apron hung from around her neck. When Pete and Jill came into the kitchen, Agrippina was busily kneading a lump of dough.

"Hello, Agrippina," said Pete.

The old fauna blinked once, and then twice, and then she recognized Pete and put her hands over her mouth to keep from shouting to the rafters. "Oh my," she breathed. "You're—you're—Your Majesty!" At once, she bowed low. Then, facing the cellar door, she called, "Fabian! Fabian, my husband, come quickly!"

"Now, now, dear," came a raspy voice from down below. "What's all the excitement? Why—?" When old Fabian emerged from the cellar, bent over and every bit of hair or fur on his body a silver gray, he saw Pete and very nearly died of a heart-attack. "High King Peter!" he said in astonishment.

"Shh!" said Pete. "Keep it down! I don't want anybody to know that I'm back yet."

"But, why-ever not?" asked Agrippina. "Everybody thinks that you… that you died!"

"Look, I just have to figure out how I'm going to break the news," said Pete. "In the meanwhile, I need a safe place to lie low. And my little girl here looks like she could use a plate of food."

"Oh my goodness, but of course!" said Agrippina. "Where is my head? Of course you need food and drink." The grandmotherly fauna held her hand out to Jillian and said, "Come here, little dear, and I'll find you something good to eat."

Fabian, meanwhile, looked at Pete and said, "Your little girl?"

"Long story," said Pete.

But the old faun only put up his hands and said, "I won't judge. The Lion only knows, but Queen Penelope must have been in similar straits."

"How do you mean?" asked Pete.

"Why, a little over two years ago, she gave birth to a daughter," said Fabian. "A baby centaur. The princess Persephone."

Pete sank down onto a small wooden stool and stared blankly into space. "Penny… had a kid? So soon? But who was the father?"

"I can't say for sure," said Fabian, "but it's a fact that after you disappeared, General Oreius stayed in Cair Paravel. Folks on the street… well, they talk, and it does seem pretty obvious, if you ask me. But, funny thing, she still hasn't married him. That's why you've got all these rotten royals and nobles, coming into town, day in and day out, all trying their best to romance our queen. They want her to pick a new high king, you see."

"But she simply won't do it," said Agrippina, who now set a mug of warm, spiced cider in front of Jill, next to a plate of fruits and cheeses. The little girl attacked these things hungrily, and she drained the cider quickly. Then she looked up at Agrippina with a toothy grin. The fauna smiled at this and continued, "In fact, more than one prince has left Cair Paravel with bruises and black eyes. Say what you will about our Good Queen Penny, but she hasn't let another man sit in your throne, O my king."

Pete nodded. Then he put his hand underneath his chin and sat there, pensive, thinking. "Can you two… take care of Jill for a while? Just until I get back from the castle?"

"Of course," said Agrippina. "Don't think anything of it. I've missed having the pitter-patter of little hooves around, since all of ours have grown."

"It would be our pleasure, Your Majesty," said Fabian. "And, might I ask a favor?"

"Name it," said Pete.

"Well, if there happen to be any suitors in your castle, trying to take your wife and your crown, I'd be greatly pleased if Your Majesty could give them a good, solid, Narnian drubbing! They've been causing decent townsfolk no end of trouble, you see, and it will be a day of celebration here in Cair Paravel when the last of them finally leaves!"

Pete laughed at that. "You got it, Fabian. But first… do you have a cloak that I can borrow?"

* * *

A bearded man approached Cair Paravel. The hood of a black cloak hung low over his face, making him look rather like a monk or a friar. This, of course, was Peter Pevensie. He'd left Jill and the two gnomes in the capable care of Agrippina and Fabian, because this was something that he had to do for himself.

He walked through the city, keeping his head down, and just as he'd hoped, nobody gave him a second look. But when he came to the gates of the castle, he found them guarded by two centaur knights. As Count in Cair Paravel, and then later as High King, Pete had lived in this place for about two years, and so he knew it backwards and forwards. He knew that as a fortress, it was damned near impenetrable, and sneaking inside simply wasn't an option right now. Therefore, he decided on the direct approach. Doffing his hood and righting his posture, he strode boldly up to the centaur knights.

"Halt," said one of the guards. "Who are you, that you seek admittance to the castle?"

Pete recognized this guard. He was one of Penelope's old company. "Take a good look, Naussus, and tell me who you think I am."

It took a few searching moments, but eventually, both guards understood that they were now in the presence of their long-lost king. "Your Majesty!" said Naussus. "You're alive!" He and his fellow guard at once bowed down on their forelegs.

"Get up," said Pete. "Don't make a scene. Just keep this to yourselves for now. Can you do that for me?"

Both centaurs nodded. They were too stunned to reply.

"All right," said Pete, walking past them into the castle, "now, not one word to anybody, understand?"

"We understand, Your Majesty," said Nassus.

"Good." After that, Pete made tracks for the inner bailey and the entrance to the palace. He sneaked inside and darted into one of the more little-used corridors, hoping to remain unseen. He wandered the hallways, past rooms and around corners, making for a side-passage that would get him close to the grand hall and throne-room without giving up his concealment. Moving through these halls, Pete was struck by how little they'd changed. He'd lived here for two years, and he'd been away for three, but this place was the same. The memories of it seemed fresher and more real than anything he'd experienced in the Green Witch's tunnels. To see the sunlight streaming in through the windows and from between the columns, to breathe the fresh air again and know that just outside the city were wide-open meadows and hills and forests… these things made Pete feel more alive than he'd been in a long, long time.

Now it was time to take back his life.

* * *

In the throne-room of Cair Paravel, Queen Penelope—who had ruled alone as High Queen ever since the mysterious loss of her husband—paced back and forth in front of the great throne. Beside her stood the old faun Quintus, lord-mayor of Cair Paravel, still looking the part of a bureaucratic minister. Before the queen and the mayor were several jinn: one regally appointed Tarkaan, and a number of guards and servants. The Tarkaan's voice was high-pitched and loud enough to echo in the hall and carry down the passageways. He was saying, "…So you see, Your Majesty, it is a most advantageous match. We can marry in name and combine our vast holdings, but if you never want see my face again—which I would completely understand—you needn't feel obligated."

Queen Penelope's jaw dropped at the sheer audacity of the jinni. Then she smiled sweetly and said, "Because, rather than touch the centaur you would have to call your wife, you can keep to your harem of jinnyah concubines, and I—"

"And, yes, you can keep to your own kind as well," said the Tarkaan. "You see? A very beneficial arrangement."

Penelope frowned at the Tarkaan and placed her hands on the hilts of her two sabres—she always went about armed anymore, even in Cair Paravel—and she said, "Get out, Rabadash. As you value your life, leave and do not return!"

Rabadash Tarkaan sputtered and fumed, and finally shouted, "You dare to threaten me? I am the son of the Tisroc! A slight against me is a slight against the Empire!"

Penelope trotted closer to the jinn and said in an intimidating voice, "Remind me sometime to tell you a story that I learned once from my husband. It's about a small band of poor rebels who brought down a vast empire of many worlds."

Needless to say, Rabadash wasn't familiar with that story, but he got the message. With a snooty sniff, he looked down his nose at Queen Penelope and then snapped his fingers. At once, all of his servants and guards turned in lockstep and faced away from the throne. Then Rabadash swept his cape behind him and turned away, and as he left, his entourage followed at a timed march.

Once Penelope was alone, Quintus came forward and said, "That was impolitic, my queen. The imperial prince of all Calormen… to insult him might very well provoke his father's wrath."

"It's too late to take it back now," said Penelope. "And good riddance to bad rubbish. The very idea, that I would marry a man like _that_ … oh, Quintus, I can't put up with this much longer!"

The faun stroked his chin and tugged at his whiskers. Then he said, "Normally, Your Majesty, I would advise you to select a prince who makes the best arrangement for Narnia, but since none can seem to please you—"

"Frankly, most don't even try," said Penelope.

"Indeed," said Quintus. "And, given those circumstances, I would offer Your Majesty different advice. Do just as High King Peter did: marry a Narnian." The faun looked imploringly at Penelope and said, "Declare Duke Oreius your husband. Crown him King of Narnia. He has already been your lover, so according to centaur tradition, at least—"

"No!" said Penelope. "Just because he has shared my bed on occasion, that does not give him the right to rule at my side! Oreius is _not_ my husband." In a smaller voice, more weary and forlorn, she said, "I have no husband."

"Then… what will Your Majesty do?" asked Quintus. "You cannot keep up this charade forever."

"I don't know!" said Penelope. "But I'm certain of this: the very next male who marches into this hall and asks for my hand in marriage will meet these swords!" As she spoke, Penelope drew her two blades and whirled about… only to find another man standing before her in the throne-room. It was a man in a black cloak, his face hidden by a hood.

Pete had concealed himself in the corridor, and he'd heard everything. But now, this talk of Penelope and Oreius had confirmed all of his suspicions. And he simply couldn't take it. He had waited for three years to see Penelope again. But now, it was as if his hope—the one thing that had kept him alive—had been dashed for good.

Penelope stared at the stranger. "Who are you?" she demanded.

Then Pete pulled off his hood, revealing his face, and he looked Penelope in the eye. "Hello, Penny."

Behind the centauress, Quintus's eyes rolled back into his head, and the faun fainted dead away. But Queen Penelope stood firm. Shocked beyond all reason, she could only gape and stammer, "P-P-Peter…? But… how? You died!"

"No," said Pete simply. "I didn't."

"You died!" shouted Penelope again. "I saw you die!" Sobbing now, she dropped her swords and let them clatter to the floor. She ran forward, collapsed into Pete's arms, and embraced him tightly. She ran her hands over his body, feeling to make sure that he was real and solid. "Who are you?" she asked between the tears and hiccups. "Are you his ghost, sent to compound my torment?"

"I'm me," he said. "Just me."

"Peter…" Penelope stood back and blinked the moisture from her eyes, so that she could get a good look at him. He'd changed in the last three years… but not much. "It really is you…" And then she kissed him. She peppered desperate kisses all over his face before turning her attention to Peter's lips…

But that, Pete just couldn't stand. This was the moment that he'd hoped for throughout his long imprisonment; but now, it seemed wrong. Rotten. Phony. So he pushed her away and said, "Don't. Don't touch me."

Penelope, emotional and confused, didn't understand. "Peter…?"

Pete just walked past the centauress, stepped over Quintus's twitching form, and sat down on his massive throne. "Let's chat," he said, his voice cold and mocking. "I'll go first… Hi, honey, I'm home! How was _your_ day?"


	63. Chapter 63

"SPEECHLESS?" said Pete. "Okay. Let me tell you a little story. It's about this guy: Odysseus. He was a king, back on Earth, a really long time ago. He ruled an island called Ithaca, and he had a wife named Penelope—fun coincidence, right?—and a son named Telemachos. But then he sailed off to war, and he was gone for twenty years. Ten years fighting the war, and ten years wandering from island to island, trying to sail home. He was kept prisoner by a witch called Circe and a goddess called Calypso—beautiful, powerful women—but he only wanted to get home to his Penelope. And do you know what Queen Penelope of Ithaca did while Odysseus was gone? She waited for him. She had faith that he wasn't dead, and she waited.

"Suitors came from all over Greece, seeking her hand in marriage, because they wanted to be king. But she kept them all at bay for twenty years. And when Odysseus finally came home, and he found these men in his house, eating his food, drinking his wine, hitting on his wife, and treating his son like dirt… he killed them all. Every last one of them. And nobody thought he was wrong to do it." Pete looked down on Penelope from his throne. She certainly wasn't the Queen of Ithaca. But then again, he wasn't any Odysseus either. No heroics, no climactic battle with would-be rivals, and no loyal son to come home to. Just Penelope the centauress, his onetime wife, now High Queen of Narnia.

Penelope shook her head and said, "That isn't fair, Peter! You were dead! We all thought that you were dead! And I mourned you! For two years—longer than we were together—I didn't let another man touch me!"

Pete leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees, and rested his chin in cupped hands. "Oh? And what about Oreius?"

Now Penelope started to weep openly, and her words were so filled with shame and regret that they could barely be made out. "I admit… we have been together… because he was here, and you were not… and I thought—I _thought_ —that you would have wanted that for me… to move on, try and be happy… so I let Oreius comfort me, sometimes, when I was thinking of you…"

Pete just snorted at that. "Comforting you. That's what we're going to call it, huh? Okay, fine." Then he sat up straight again and looked Penelope in the eye. "I hear that you're a mom now."

Penelope smiled through the tears and said, "Yes. I had a daughter. Persephone." The centauress laughed a bit and said, "I call her 'Seffie.' I think I picked up the habit of nicknaming from you."

Pete frowned. Then he said, "I'll bet she's a pretty little filly."

"She is," said Penelope, who wiped her eyes and sniffled. "Would you… like to see her? She's in the nursery right now, with Oreius."

"Oh, really?" said Pete. "You know what? Sure. Why not. Let's go meet both of 'em. Just seeing the look on Oreius's face will make this all worthwhile."

Penelope couldn't understand what had made Pete so cold, but then again, she didn't know where he'd been these past three years. He seemed so full of hatred and suspicion now. Was this the same man she'd fallen in love with? Pete certainly acted as if he no longer loved her. Perhaps, she hoped, that might change once he met little Persephone.

* * *

Penelope led Peter through the halls of Cair Paravel, up to the second floor, where one of the larger bedrooms had become a child's nursery. The walls were painted with soft colors, and many toys were strewn about the room. The Princess of Narnia wanted for nothing. When Pete followed Penelope into the room, he saw two more centaurs therein: Oreius, that stern and dour warrior; and a little centaur-girl, no more than two years of age, with golden hair that matched Penelope's. Little Persephone was asleep on a mattress (which rested directly on the floor, without an actual bed-frame holding up, a sensible arrangement for a centaur child), with the bedclothes drawn over her and keeping her tucked in. Oreius stood vigilant watch over the girl, smiling as he observed her slumber.

Then the centaur saw Penelope come into the room, and he saw a strange man following behind her. It took a few seconds for the face to register, but when Oreius did finally recognize Pete, his contented smile twisted into an expression of stark terror. "My king," he said, breathless from the pit that formed in his stomach. "You live!"

"That's right," said Pete. "I live. And from what I understand, you've been 'living' here. With Penelope."

"Yes," said Oreius.

"Do you love her?" asked Pete, his voice heavy with resignation.

"I always have," said the centaur, swallowing his fear. "You know that."

But Penelope, surprised by the finality in Pete's tone, asked, "Peter, why do you say this?"

"Why do you think?" said Pete angrily, though he kept his voice low enough that it wouldn't disturb the sleeping princess. "The two of you have a kid together! I love you as much as I always have, Penny—God damn it, of course I do!—but I'm not going to step in and split up a little girl's parents!"

Penelope was so taken aback that she couldn't speak. But Oreius kept his head and said, "This girl is not my daughter, Sire. I have cared for her these past two years, and I have loved her as a father loves a daughter, but she is not mine!"

"Then, whose is she?" asked Pete.

"Yours, of course," said Penelope, her voice small and sad. At once, she realized why Pete had been so mean. The foolish human must have thought that she and Oreius had slept together only a short while after Pete's disappearance. "You thought that Oreius was her father? You thought that I could be so faithless, so soon after I lost you?"

"But… Aslan…" stammered Pete. "He said that we wouldn't have children…"

"He said that we wouldn't have human children," corrected Penelope. "Persephone isn't human, but she is your daughter. She even has your eyes."

Now understanding came crashing down on Pete as well. "Oh. Oh… I've been a complete douchebag," he said.

"I don't know what that is," said Penelope, "but, yes, I think you have."

Pete looked from saddened Oreius to distraught Penelope to the sleeping Persephone. Then he said, "So where do we go from here?"

"Obviously," said Oreius, "as long as a Son of Adam lives in Cair Paravel, the people of Narnia will have no other king. This is _your_ house, Sire, and I can no longer remain within it." Though his voice became thick with pain, he added, "Tell Persephone… after I have left… that I love her very much…" Then the centaur moved for the nursery door.

"Wait," said Penelope, holding him back. She kissed Oreius tenderly on the cheek and said, "Thank you, Oreius. For all that you've done. If things had been different…"

"Things are not different," said Oreius, "and I know where your heart still lies. It was never with me." And then left, again—and this time, he walked out of Pete and Penelope's lives for good, and out of our story altogether.

But Pete wasn't so easily convinced, and he posed the same question to Penelope that he had asked of Oreius. "Do you love him?"

"Yes," said Penelope. "I have grown to know Oreius well, and I love him now. But I will never be _in_ love with him. I'll never love anybody as I have loved you, Peter." She came forward and took both of Pete's hands into hers. "When we were together, our marriage was so full of love, and hope, and promise… and I had thought that it would never end. I don't want it to end."

And something inside Pete snapped. This was the moment that he had wanted for so long. This was what he had hoped for. Penelope still loved him. She still wanted to be with him, and he wanted to be with her, the rest of the world be damned. They crashed into each other and shared a passionate kiss, a real kiss this time, one that could easily have given the kiss shared between Westley and Buttercup in _The Princess Bride_ a real run for its money. Then Pete stood back, and he saw Penelope's eyes shining—with unshed tears and gratitude and love—and he looked down at the bed and saw his little daughter, Persephone, starting to come to. Soon, she would wake up, and Pete would have some introductions to go through. He had to meet his youngest little girl, and she had to meet her father, and both Seffie and Penny would have to meet little Jill…

Oh, crap, thought Pete. His other daughter! How would Penelope react to _that_?

* * *

…

* * *

Suffice it to say, Penelope was beyond surprised when she discovered that Pete had sired a daughter by the Green Witch. But when she learned that it had happened in Tashbaan, long before Pete and Penelope had been together, back when Pete had still been fooled into thinking the witch was human, she couldn't bring herself to blame him. And, it was true, little Jillian was a sweet girl, and she managed to charm Penelope just as quickly as Seffie did the same to Pete.

When Pete finally told the whole story of his abduction and imprisonment to Penelope, she was brought to tears again. She cried for all that Pete had suffered through, and for all that she had gone through in his absence, and for all the precious time that they had lost. But they each vowed to make up for it. They were a family now—a real family—Pete, Penny, Seffie, and Jill.

Jillian Pevensie missed her real mother at first, but as the years went by, she gradually came to think of Penelope as her mother, and she loved Persephone as any big sister should love a little sister. She also heard the stories of the Green Witch's villainy, and she came to understand that Pete had not stolen her away—he had rescued her. As she grew, Jill became quite a beautiful young woman, but she never displayed any proclivity for magic. It seemed that she was a Daughter of Eve, and not a witch, after all.

Needless to say, the news that High King Peter the Magnificent had returned to claim his throne sparked celebration throughout the land of Narnia, and even in countries beyond. Pete's closest friends were overjoyed, and they all came to Cair Paravel to visit once again. This time, they were all there: Lumpkin and Brenawen came, of course; and so did Falon; and Phineas and Cynthia brought little Tumnus this time; and Diarmuid and Cliodhna came all the way from Narrowhaven, partly to visit Peter and partly to show off their firstborn son, a little baby mer-boy named Chulainn.

Ever after Pete's escape from the Green Witch, he always feared that Jada would appear again and try to steal him away, or to reclaim Jill as her daughter. Penelope worried that Jada would once again try to stir up trouble in the north, and so she always had soldiers patrolling Narnia's northern borders, watching for any sign of mischief. But it never came. Jada, it seemed, had disappeared mysteriously after the escape of Pete, Jill, and the gnomes from her underground palace. Though the fear of her never completely went away, Jada herself was never seen again in that lifetime. Pete couldn't explain it, but he was grateful for it.

(The fact that Jada never attacked Narnia from the north proved to be a very great boon indeed, for Narnia couldn't have afforded the distraction. After Rabadash Tarkaan returned to Calormen, bitter and with wounded pride, he decided to gather what forces he could, to launch an attack on Archenland and Narnia together. That war was long and bitter-fought, but Pete and Penelope were both great heroes in that conflict, and the full tale of it is told in another chronicle.)

As for Ortz and Ipsum, they were so fascinated by Narnia that they offered to stick around for a while, ostensibly to study the surface-country and its people. They even asked to run genetic tests on little Persephone, since, as far as they knew, it broke all known laws of heredity for a human and a centauress to have another centauress for a child. Pete joked with the gnomes that "Gregor Mendel is spinning in his grave, and somewhere, Watson and Crick are laughing at us." But the scientific question didn't bother Pete so much, and of course he never let them run any such tests. Pete was simply overjoyed to have a second little girl, and he was elated by the knowledge that Penelope could have his children after all. In following years, Pete and Penelope had many more children together; and though, as Aslan had promised, none were human and all were centaurs, that didn't bother Pete either.

Thanks to Ortz and Ipsum, however, Pete finally had what he'd always wanted: real scientists with real technical knowledge, right there in Narnia. Now Pete was able to commission the building of machines and technologies that he had only dreamed of before. The gnomes were able to teach the Narnian people—dwarves and fauns and all the rest—how to build steam engines, electrical generators, printing presses, light bulbs, locomotives, and a host of other wondrous things. Of course, the Narnian people credited their magnificent High King Peter with the explosion of technical innovation that took place during his reign. But really, it was all made possible by those two gnomes.

Pete did everything he could to modernize Narnia, and the people said that under King Peter and Queen Penelope, Narnia entered a true Golden Age. He wired the cities with electricity, he laid down railways, and he commissioned presses to print papers and books. Learning and literacy blossomed under High King Peter, and eventually, some twenty-five years down the road, the day came when Peter decided that the Narnian citizens were so well-educated that he would have to abdicate the throne.

For most of that time, the business of actually governing Narnia had devolved to a unicameral Parliament that Pete had created by royal decree. Parliamentarians, chosen by popular vote from each borough and baronet in the country, came to Cair Paravel to sit in council and make laws. As High King, Pete reserved for himself only the power to wage wars and to veto those laws that came out of the Parliament that he didn't like. But now, in the thirtieth year of the reign of High King Peter the Magnificent, he addressed this governing body of dwarves, fauns, nymphs, sprites, centaurs, and talking animals, and he told them that they would have to govern themselves. He told them to choose a new chief executive to take on the role of a king. In short, he told them to elect a president. And then, just before he left the Parliamentary chamber for the last time, he gave them the best advice of all. "In my long reign over this country, I have seen many things change, and mostly for the better. But one thing has never changed. We all fight our demons. The demons from without are easy. They're cake. We can see them, we can identify them—witches, monsters, and such things—and when we're lucky, we can kill them. But the demons within—selfishness, dishonesty, cowardice—those are harder to kill. They have a nasty habit of coming back to life, long after we think they're dead. Watch out for those demons. Keep them at bay, and you'll govern Narnia far more wisely than I ever could. Make this land of ours a land ruled by laws and not by men. And every person here—for indeed, _persons_ all of you are—must take responsibility for what you do. All must be equal in the eyes of the law, regardless of race or rank or wealth. Irresponsibility and inequality are the greatest demons of all. Be especially vigilant in watching against those, and this country will endure, and it will prosper. In fact," said High King Peter, when he was finally ready to bid the council farewell, he held up one hand and split the fingers into the "V" shape of a Vulcan _ta'al_ , and he said, "I wish for all of you to live long… and prosper."

* * *

After that, Peter and Penelope left Cair Paravel altogether. Their children were all grown and leading lives of their own, and so Pete, at age sixty-two, and Penelope, fifty-nine years old, retired to live in a pretty little cottage on the outskirts of Silenopolis, in the Western Woods. There, they would be able to live their lives in peace and quiet, in the friendly company of their old comrades, Phineas and Cynthia. Humans and centaurs aged at roughly the same rate, and so both Pete and Penelope had many wrinkles and hair of silver now—though Pete looked very rugged and distinguished, and Penelope never lost any of her stately beauty. Phineas, though, only looked a little bit grayer in the hair, and Cynthia, of course, still resembled a sixteen-year-old girl. Nevertheless, they all got along famously together in Pete and Penny's waning years, and they led quiet, happy lives. Lumpkin and Brenawen visited often, and even Falon would show up on occasion. Pete and Penny's children would visit frequently, except for Princess Persephone, who had gone off to the Sea Kingdom and married Prince Chulainn when they were both still relatively young. Peter took an especial shine to young Tumnus, and he thought of the strapping young faun as an official nephew.

That was why, one day, after three years of this pleasant retirement, old Pete and Penelope took young Tumnus with them when they went hunting in the woods together, following the rumor of a magical White Stag that granted wishes…

* * *

**Here Ends Book Two of the Chronicle**

* * *

**Second Interlude**

* * *

NOW at the ripe age of sixty-five years, Peter Pevensie, former High King of Narnia, was not as spry as he used to be. His sword-arm still had most of its old strength, and his tongue was as sharp as ever; but his beard was long and white, and he simply wasn't as quick on his feet as he'd been while still a young man. Penelope, of course, thought that age made Peter look distinguished; and for her part, she remained astonishingly lovely at sixty-one years. But even a centaur's strength had to ebb at that age, and the onetime Queen of Narnia was no exception.

These two had remained the best of friends for more than thirty years of marriage. Pete's childish irreverence and Penny's drier sense of humor complemented each other well; but then again, the both of them had a certain down-to-earth sensibility in common. In all their time together, they had never fallen out of love, and they always did things together. That was why, on this day, they set out with young Vertumnus the faun to enjoy the pleasures of the hunt.

Rumor had flown into Silenopolis that the famous White Stag of the West had been seen, and Duke Phineas, being the historian that he was, informed his friends of the legend that the Stag, if caught, granted its captors one wish. Pete and Penny decided that, just for a lark, they would go out together to hunt it down and try and catch it. And Tumnus had begged to go along, which of course Pete relented to.

Now they three tramped together through the Western Woods, and either Penny or Tumnus would occasionally stop to examine some tracks left in the soft soil underfoot. Tumnus carried his father's old musket, the very same weapon that Phineas had borne into battle during the War—not to shoot the White Stag with, of course, but just in case some other target of opportunity presented itself.

Eventually, Tumnus knelt down and pointed out some tracks. "Look, Your Majesties! Deer… heavy, and moving swiftly. Definitely a male. It could be our Stag!"

"They're fresh tracks," said Penelope. "Good work, lad!"

"And how many times do we have to tell you," said Pete, "that we're not 'majesties' anymore? We've abdicated. President Quintus rules Narnia now."

"Oh, Uncle!" said Tumnus in a chiding voice. "Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen of Narnia! You are both who you are!" The young faun had a funny sense of history, partly because his father had instructed him in the discipline, and partly because he'd had a front-seat-view to the making of history all his life. His father and mother were a duke and a duchess, and Pete and Penny—his godfather and godmother, but practically as close as blood-relatives—were former royalty. To Tumnus, though, they were more than just family, and more than just influential celebrities. They were war-heroes and living legends. They were Tumnus's personal heroes.

"I cannot fault his logic," said Penelope with a wry smile. "We are indeed exactly who we are."

"Of course you can't fault it," said Pete. "It's a tautology."

Then Tumnus sucked in his breath and said, "By Aslan! Look there!" And sure enough, in between the close-set tree-trunks, the shine of glossy fur even whiter than Penelope's could be seen a short distance ahead. Then they caught a glimpse of silvery buck's horns, and they knew that the White Stag was near.

"I see him!" said Penelope, who took off at a gallop. Even at her age, the others couldn't hope to keep up—not even nimble Tumnus, who pranced after her on his own hooves.

Pete sighed and followed behind at a more respectable jog—because, with all due respect to Officers Riggs and Murtaugh, he was just too old for this shit.

* * *

When Pete finally caught up to Penny and Tumnus, they were standing in a clearing in the woods, staring wonderingly at a large tree.

Pete bent over and tried to catch his breath. "Where'd the Stag go?" he panted.

"It got away," said Penelope in a distant voice. She was engrossed by the sight of the tree, which Pete could now see was concealing something in its roots. It was in fact a small, cave-like hovel—a tiny hose, burrowed underneath the tree-trunk and in between all of the roots.

Pete came forward to get a closer look, because this place picked at his memories something fierce. Then recognition set in, and he said, "Oh my God."

"What is this place?" asked Tumnus.

"It's… Lumpkin's old house," said Pete.

"Lumpkin Dwarf-King?" asked Tumnus. "Uncle Lumpkin? _He_ used to live _here_?"

"This is where all my adventures began," said Pete. His voice was nostalgic, and suddenly the human felt very old indeed. "Thirty-five years ago… I found myself in this forest, in wintertime, and Lumpkin found me and brought me here. I wonder…"

And then Pete started off through the woods, the springtime dew rolling off his boots, the soft ground kicking up behind him as he ran.

"Peter!" said Penelope. "Where are you going?" And she followed him closely behind.

Tumnus had no trouble keeping up, and as the three ran through the woods, they all saw a strange light up ahead—a soft glow that didn't come from the sun. Indeed, the canopy of conifers overhead was so thick that little sunlight came through, but this new glow was soft and steady, like one of the electric street-lamps that now kept Cair Paravel bright at all hours of the night.

And then they broke through the branches into yet another clearing, and there before them stood exactly that—a lamppost. It shone with a light that came from neither burning flame nor electric bulb, and the light was bright and unfaltering. "I don't believe it," said Pete.

"This is… the lamppost that you told me about," said Penelope. "It's really here."

"This marks the very western border of Narnia," said Tumnus. "Beyond this post, the forest ends, and the Western Wilds begin—a barren land, where the River Telmar is said to have its source."

"I know," said Pete. "But… still, something about this place… I think you two should wait here."

Penelope snatched up Pete's hand and held it tightly. "Whatever for?" she asked. "Do you… feel something… magical?"

Pete smiled and kissed his wife's line-creased cheek. "I always have, my love," he said. "Just… wait here for me, all right? I won't be a moment."

"As you wish, my beloved," said Penelope. She stood there in the clearing, basking in the light of the lamppost, and Tumnus stood next to her.

Pete gave them both a nod, and then he walked past the post. He only wanted to see what was through the trees beyond. He pushed aside the boughs and branches of pines and spruces and other evergreens, and then a funny thing happened. The needles became more pliable, and less prickly. They softened, and they took on the aspect of fur. And then Pete realized that he wasn't pushing his way through tree-branches anymore. No… he was pushing his way through a row of fur-coats…

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. I never did get around to writing the third and final book of this chronicle. (After the first two books, I was completely out of mental stamina.) But I did always want to get back to it, to tell the story of Pete and Penny (their youth restored) and Tumnus having strange adventures on Earth—becoming celebrities, freaking the shit out of Pete's family—before returning to Narnia and finding themselves in "Prince Caspian" times. Ah, well. Maybe someday. For now, goodbye, good luck, and thanks for reading!


End file.
